


It was always you

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Modern Westeros, fluff and mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-06-03 07:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19459711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Jaime and Brienne are Management professionals and best friends. While their mutual friends feel they could be much more than besties, they don't think so. What happens when they decide to seek love outside their circle?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been at the back of my mind for days and I finally decided to write it. Not a long one unlike my Canon long-fic, this would be approximately 7-8 chapters.  
> And as all my other JB stories go, this will be a pure romance, with the love story being the only focus.

“Here we are,” said Tyrion, raising his glass when they gathered around him. “May this be the beginning of a productive management career. To acquiring the job of our dreams!”

“To acquiring the job of our dreams,” chorused the others in response, and thus began their celebration of the successful culmination of their MBA programme, a significant moment for all of them. Brienne sighed to herself thinking about the future. She’d miss the gang, the wonderful group of friends she had made during the course of the two years they’d spent at the King’s Landing Institute of Management, one of the most prestigious management schools in the country. She looked around at the awesome people she’d got to know during this stint - Tyrion, Sansa, Bronn, Podrick and of course, Jaime Lannister--she couldn’t help giving him a warm smile--her bestie, her 4 a.m buddy, someone she could turn to any time of the day, be it to whine about a fight with her father or to seek his moral support for a trip to the dentist.

“I’ll miss you guys,” she said wistfully, staring down the contents of her glass, “I hope we stay in touch.”

“Of course we will,” Jaime was the first to reply, reaching out for her hand and giving it a friendly squeeze, “I’m not going to spend a day without talking to you, wench. I’m going to call and text you every single day, I’m planning to pester you so much that I’m afraid you’ll tire of me.”

Beaming at him, Brienne recalled the first time they’d met, the first day of class when she’d entered late and was compelled to sit next to him due to the lack of any other vacant seat. _Wench,_ he’d referred to her the moment he saw her, the distaste in his clear green eyes shamelessly obvious. He hadn’t expressed it in words, but it was there for her to see, his lack of approval and his condescension for her ordinary looks and dressing style. She was sure he’d been repelled by her then, and she had wasted no time reciprocating his ill-feelings.

But with time, he changed and so did her opinion of him, and they had come a long way in these two years, practically inseparable now, spending all their free time together. Their cozy little group was her world now, seeking fun and companionship and comfort in one another, sharing their daily stress, discussing everything right from the squabble they had with their parents to the complications in their love lives. 

But as the saying goes, all good things came to an end, and so would their association, and it would soon be time to bid each other goodbye. They’d go their separate ways and maybe never even see each other as their lives got busy with other things. Brienne had landed a dream job in the Investment banking sector - a position at the Pentos Global Financial Services Limited, which had an opening for her profile at their King’s Landing branch. Barring the youngsters Sansa and Pod, the rest of them entered their management course with a rich work experience in the finance domain to back them up, the years Brienne had spent as an accountant in her younger days bearing fruit at this stage of her career.

“You owe us a treat,” Pod demanded of her, “you’re the first among us to have seized the right opportunity.”

“I’m sure you guys will soon make it to your goals,” she wanted to cheer them up.

“I’m betting on you to be the next, Podrick fuckin’ Payne!” Bronn exclaimed, patting Pod on the back.

“How about lunch tomorrow for a treat?” Brienne offered, looking around the half-drunk faces peering at her. “Sounds good?”

“Absolutely,” Sansa happily agreed, and everyone nodded, returning to their beers.

Tyrion got up to speak, raising his voice a notch to make himself audible in the din of the pub. “Guys,” he called out, drawing their attention, “we have news.”

When the rest of them waited politely, Sansa held out her left hand, smiling, and on her ring-finger was a diamond the size of a rock. “Tyrion asked me this morning,” she gushed, beaming at her friends.

“Congrats!” chimed everyone at the same time, each awaiting their turn to hug the happy couple.

“I ought to have been told much earlier,” Jaime whined, enveloping his brother in a bear-hug. Tyrion was the younger of the Lannister brothers, a dwarf, his wit and intelligence compensating for his lack of height. “Have you told dad yet?” Jaime asked him, frowning. “Has he agreed--”

“Dad would rather disown me than let me marry a Stark,” Tyrion said in a bitter tone. It was a known fact that Sansa’s father Ned Stark and Tywin Lannister were business rivals, constantly at loggerheads with one another, each trying to pull the other down. “I don’t care whether he approves of us or not.”

“You have a point.” Jaime nodded thoughtfully as he let go of him. “When has dad ever allowed us to make decisions for our happiness? It was always the family name and his business that mattered the most to him, not mom, or you or me.”

“I can’t say it’s worked out badly for the pair of you,” Bronn quipped, clicking his tongue in disagreement. “You’ll be inheriting Lannister Industries, a legacy that’s been set up to support generations to come in your family. It’s the common folk like Pod, Brienne and myself who have to hunt for jobs.”

“I’d rather find a job on my own merit than work for my father and tolerate his tyranny,” grumbled Jaime, making a face as he drank deeply, “if it helps, you’re the ones I envy. Free to follow your will and aspirations, you could take over the world one day.”

“I’m so happy for you two,” Brienne changed the subject, giving Sansa another warm hug. “You have such a lovely life ahead of you.”

“I suppose it’s your turn next, Brienne,” Sansa suggested, her eyes twinkling. The girl was practically glowing in happiness.

It was Jaime who replied before she could say anything.“For?” 

“Finding a guy,” said Sansa as if it was the most obvious thing to be done next. “Settling down. Marriage, kids, things like that.”

Brienne was clueless and tongue tied. While she had dated a handful of guys before, she was no beauty, pretty ordinary, and in fact even clumsy and ungainly, her plain appearance often leaving her wondering if she’d ever find someone, a man who would see beyond her looks. 

“I--I haven’t really thought about that,” she made a weak-willed attempt to fend the question off.

“I’ve thought about it,” Bronn cut across cheerfully. “When I get settled in my career, I’m gonna find myself a nice girl--”

“I never thought your aspirations for love were that simple, Bronn,” Jaime chipped in with his trademark sarcasm that usually just bounced off Bronn.

“Oh, I have grand plans.” Bronn grinned, unaffected by the snark as always. “I’m gonna marry a builder’s daughter someday, someone rich who probably owns half the city’s real estate.”

Knowing Bronn’s fixation with wealth and the ambition to own a house in the city’s most coveted constructions, The Red Keep Society, the group roared with laughter, unsurprised.

“I’d like a quiet girl,” Pod said dreamily once the laughter had died down, “someone simple and loving, one who’s content to lead a less high-profile life.”

Brienne looked at him affectionately. “You’re such a romantic.” Pod was the youngest in the group and she had a soft corner for him, looking upon him as the brother she’d lost as a child. “I’m sure you’ll soon find the girl of your dreams.”

“What about you, Brienne?” It was Jaime who sprung the question on her this time. “I’m sure you have something in your mind. What does your dream guy look like?” He nudged her playfully. “Come on, wench, you can tell us,” he pushed when she hesitated, throwing an arm around her as usual, his gesture, this time, leaving her mildly flustered, the effect taking her by surprise.

“I told you, I haven’t--” she paused, unable to find the right words to answer them.

“Tell us,” Sansa purred, and everybody else began in a sing-song rhythm, drumming the table, “tell us, tell us, tell us.”

Seeing no escape out of this, Brienne racked her brain, and the only face to show up in her mind’s eye was that of Renly Baratheon, her college crush, the one she admired from a distance, the gorgeous guy who was too handsome to fall in love with a plain girl like her. “Someone who is--” she tried to describe him, but faltered.

“--a _friend_?” Tyrion supplied, stealthily eyeing his brother.

“Well, yes,” Brienne went on, unsure of what to make of Tyrion’s gesture, “but--”

“Why don’t you and Jaime give it a shot?” Sansa suddenly shouted, a grin spreading across her face as she glanced at the two of them.

Brienne’s eyes widened in shock. “Gods, no!” she yelled, and so did Jaime at the same time, both of them vehemently shooting down her preposterous suggestion. They immediately averted eyes from one another, each realizing the other’s impulsive objection only a second later.

“Why not?” Sansa challenged, her curiosity piqued at the intensity of their rejection of what was, in everyone else's opinion, a brilliant match.

“I’m not his type,” Brienne quietly admitted, knowing that the gorgeous Jaime Lannister deserved a proper woman, a pretty match to his unrealistically handsome looks. He was no less than Renly, and just as Renly never even looked at her twice, her outrageously good looking friend wouldn’t too when it came to the matter of girlfriends.

“Yeah, she isn’t my type,” Jaime promptly agreed with her, the spontaneity of his response only ascertaining his opinion of her as a prospective match for him, “nor am I hers.”

“What’s your type, brother?” Tyrion had put his drink down and was now looking at his brother keenly.

“Blonde, leggy,” Bronn began listing on behalf of Jaime, “and beautiful, perhaps?” He threw Jaime a questioning look.

“Yeah,” Jaime concurred with a faraway look, his agreement with his friend’s guesses filling Brienne with a strange feeling somewhere deep down in some remote corner inside her.

_Beautiful. Obviously._

“What about you, Brienne?” Sansa asked her again, refusing to let her be at peace.

Brienne inhaled deeply. “I don’t know--" she stared at the ceiling, deep in thought "--someone who’s made his own life, independent, down to-earth, someone who cares more about people than materialistic gains--”

“See,” Jaime intervened, “told you I’m not her type, I’m barely fifty percent compliant with her expectations.”

“You two are perfect for each other,” Tyrion tried his hand at setting them up this time, “you’re best friends, you have immense respect for one another, you live with each other--” 

“We don’t,” Brienne corrected him, a warm flush spreading up her neck, “live with each other.”

Tyrion checked himself at once, sensing her unease. “I mean you’re with each other all your waking time whenever you aren’t home, at each other’s beck and call, so why not make that a permanent arrangement?”

“Nah, we’re just good friends, that’s all,” Jaime firmly put his point across, “I can’t think of her as anything else.”

A shooting pain hit the center of her forehead out of nowhere, the trigger for which she was unable to figure out. She wasn’t that drunk for the alcohol to affect her this much, moreover, beer had never before resulted in the unfamiliar emptiness she felt right now. “I’m leaving,” she announced, abruptly getting up, “got to go.”

Jaime shot to his feet immediately, his brows furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong, wench?” 

“Just a headache,” she dismissed his concern, forcing herself to ignore the sudden sense of hopelessness that was threatening to bog her down. 

Jaime, however, wasn’t one to be convinced that easily. “Hey, Brienne--”

Wanting to avoid a conversation or an argument, she began walking towards the exit. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Jaime,” she shouted without looking at him, deciding that the best remedy to her odd problem was a good night’s sleep.

“Wait, I’ll drop you home--”

“I’ll call myself a cab,” she put him off, wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

 _Maybe I should drink less from now on,_ she made up her mind as she walked towards the cab-stand, _and maybe I should see lesser of Jaime from tomorrow..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They decide to date other people and Jaime discovers that he isn't too happy with that idea.

Minutes had passed, but Jaime was still at the exit, staring into the darkness long after Brienne had disappeared in the blink of an eye, wondering what on earth could've been the reason for her abrupt getaway. What the hell was the matter with her today? She had fled as if it was a matter of life and death, citing headache - the commonest and most ridiculous excuse of excuses as a reason for her inexplicable departure. He could’ve chased after her and demanded an explanation, but intruding upon her privacy and forcing his company on her wasn’t something he wanted to do. 

_You should’ve gone for her,_ a small voice poked him from inside, challenging his decision to stay, _that’s what best friends are for, aren’t they?_ Instinct told him to follow her to her apartment and find out what was bothering her. 

_But will she take it well if I gatecrash her place?_

“Aye, she will.” 

Jaime jumped in surprise, only now noticing that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. “You’ll be the last person to be kicked out from her place,” Bronn went on, assertive as usual and smugly confident about his views.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jaime blinked, gaping at his friend and his brother who’d left the counter to join him here.

“What he means is, Brienne will welcome you with open arms if you go after her now,” explained Tyrion, the patience with which he tried to articulate his thoughts making him feel like a ten year old.

“As if you know her better than me,” Jaime muttered, irritated with himself for speaking his mind out aloud. _I’ve got to be careful from now on,_ he resolved to himself, throwing his companions a dirty look for invading his mind.

“We don’t,” Bronn butted in, “that’s for sure. Which is why you’re the one who’s going after her.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that,” Jaime said, exasperated. “It would be like stepping into her personal space.”

“Friends are allowed to do that,” Tyrion tried to coax him, and Bronn nodded in agreement. “You’re her _friend_ , aren’t you?” he added, throwing him a strange look. Despite his discomfort, Jaime had to admire his brother’s cunning move - the way he deliberately put forth the question, keenly studying his face for subtle expression changes while stressing on the word _friend_ was so typically Tyrion _._

Knowing this was an oncoming trap, he hastily broke free of his brother’s investigative gaze. “I can call her,” he suggested. Seeing this as the only way to put an end to this weird interrogation, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and browsed for her number. As usual, it was the topmost entry in his last-dialed list.

“See,” he told his brother, as her number kept ringing, “the easiest and best way to ensure she’s fine.” A full ring went by, but there was no answer. Now that puzzled Jaime, because never before had the wench ignored his call. Maybe she was busy. Maybe he ought to give her time.

_How can she be busy when sitting in the cab, doing nothing useful?_

Perhaps she was on another call. “She’s probably talking to someone else,” he told the nosy pair, hoping he was right, “she’ll call back.”

Tyrion shrugged. “As you wish.”

They returned to Sansa and Pod, and while the others, once again, occupied themselves with gossip and other day-to-day matters, Jaime found his mind wandering. Drifting in and out of concentration, he’d lost interest in his drink, his lack of inclination to participate in the conversation increasing every minute. From time to time, he kept glancing alternately at his watch and his mobile. Half an hour had passed. Surely she should’ve returned the call by now. 

_If she’s okay..._

A wave of panic gripped Jaime all of a sudden and he felt short of breath.

“Perhaps you should try calling her again,” Tyrion quietly suggested, audible only to him.

And once more he tried and yet again he was unsuccessful. “I’m going to find out what’s wrong with her,” he decided. Grabbing his jacket, he tossed his car keys to Tyrion. “Ask Sansa to drive you home,” he instructed his brother, “I’ve had a bit too much to be able to drive, and you’re usually far worse than me. You'd be better off with some company instead of taking a cab home alone.”

Taking his leave of the rest of the gang, he set off on his chase for the wench. 

_I hope I haven’t said anything to hurt her,_ he kept thinking as he sat in the cab, going over the events of the evening. All he had done was agree with Bronn’s suggestion for his type of women. Surely she'd have no reason to object to that, for it was a fact that they were as perfect a mismatch as a pair could possibly be. If her expectations pointed North, he belonged to the South, diametrically opposite of the personality she expected in a man. What the hell did their friends know? They hardly--

“We’ve reached,” announced the cabbie, jolting him back to the real world as he pulled over.

Jaime quickly settled the fare and dashed up her building. Soon he was incessantly ringing her bell, restless and impatient. “Wench, open up,” he yelled, “I know you’re in there, you can’t hide from me forever.”

No answer.

He took to banging on the door next, shouting louder this time, “Brienne, let me in, or else--”

The door swung open and there she stood, clad in a nightgown, her smooth arms and long legs drawing his attention to them for the first time. “Or else--what?” she demanded.

_Gods, her eyes are the prettiest shade of blue I’ve ever seen, almost as if the ocean’s rising to kiss the sky..._

“Are you coming in?” Brienne asked after a second, dragging him out of his drunken trance. 

“Um--yes, I guess so,” he managed, preventing his eyes from wandering to her cleavage.

 _She’s my friend, goddamn it,_ he sighed, _I can’t shamelessly stare at her. She isn’t some random woman I want to fu--_

“Come on, then,” she interrupted his thoughts again much to his relief, for they were beginning to stray in dangerous directions. “What brings you here?” she bluntly came to the point, heading straight inside and settling herself on the edge of the couch. The blank expression on her face told him that she was somewhat drunk despite her earlier claims to the contrary.

Jaime followed her inside. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” he asked, perching beside her.

She bit her lip, a familiar evasive technique she employed while tackling difficult questions. “I was talking to dad--”

“You could’ve called me after that,” he went on, refusing to buy her excuse, “I was worried about you--”

“I can take care of myself,” she waved away his concern.

“I know, but you left in a huff--”

“I told you,” she sounded irritated and impatient, “I have a headache.”

“How’re you feeling now?” he gently inquired. “Do you want me to get you something?”

“I’m fine,” she replied vaguely, a clear tactic to get him away from there and out of her sight.

“You’re not,” he observed, shifting closer to her, “you’re upset, Brienne, what’s wrong?”

She blinked numerous times before fixing her big blue eyes on his face. “I’m ugly,” she blurted without context, “I’m going to die single, an old maid.”

_Have her lashes always been this long?_

He forced himself to think straight. “What makes you think so, Brienne?”

“Haven’t you told me so yourself?” Her tone was accusing, filling him with guilt for the way he’d treated her during the early days of their acquaintance. “ _You’re much uglier in daylight,_ ” she repeated his first words to her.

Jaime reached out to hold her hand. “You’re the sweetest person in the world, Brienne,” he gushed, hoping to make amends for his past arrogance, “the best friend I’ll ever have. Any guy would love to date you.”

“Any guy?” she asked, her eyes shining with innocence and disbelief.

“Any guy,” he said, allowing himself a teasing smile after a second, “only his eyesight needs to be a bit weak,” he added, grinning.

Brienne jerked her hand away at once. “You’ve never missed a chance to criticize me,” she complained.

“You know I’m kidding right?” he told her soothingly. Then, overcome by an impulse, he pulled her into his arms, hoping she wouldn’t sense his wildly thumping heart.

“I know,” she said, raising her head to meet his eyes. “You’re the nicest friend I’ve ever had and I don’t really mind you teasing me--”

But Jaime was barely listening to her, his mind straying towards things he wasn’t supposed to pay attention to. “Your eyes--” he started, but then held his tongue, deciding not to voice what was in his mind.

“What’s wrong with them?” she asked, her tone indicating that she was probably anticipating another snarky comment.

“You’re drunk,” he changed his stand, unable to predict how she might react if he complimented her. _She’s definitely not going to believe me if I praise her eyes._ “You need to sleep and I need to leave.”

“Right,” she agreed, drawing away. “About what the others were saying some time back--”

“Absolutely ridiculous, that was,” he passed his judgment, guessing what she was driving at. “You and I - it’s--it's never going to work out.”

“I felt so too,” she mumbled when he got up to leave, “our expectations--”

“--are poles apart,” Jaime continued, “we’d be an utter mismatch even if we gave it a chance.”

Brienne frowned. “What do we do then?” She looked to him for his opinion. “How do we prove to them that they’re wrong and they need to stop this nonsense?”

Jaime took a deep breath, seeing only one solution for their strange predicament. “By meeting and dating other people,” he put forth his suggestion. “We haven’t been in the company of anyone else for about two years. It’s time we changed that.”

+++++

“Hey,” Brienne called out as soon as Jaime neared their table. With the others already present, he was the last to arrive for her treat. Lunch with the group was a double-edged sword. He felt at home with them, particularly Brienne, but their incessant match-making attempts were getting a bit too much off-late.

“Hi,” he greeted the table in general.

Before he could settle down, Bronn discreetly elbowed him. “Heard you were at her place for quite a while last night,” he whispered with a wicked glint in his eyes, side-eyeing Brienne as he spoke, “anything interesting happened?” Tyrion, who happened to be right across Jaime, abandoned his conversation with the women to pay attention to this, which was apparently juicier than whatever they were talking about.

“Stop letting your imagination run wild,” Jaime hissed, gritting his teeth, “nothing happened between us, nothing ever will.”

“Fine,” Tyrion attempted to pacify him, “we believe you.” His eyes said just the opposite.

“I have news!” Brienne exclaimed from the other end of the table, clearly dying to tell them something. “Renly called this morning,” she happily announced without giving them time to react.

Jaime nearly choked on his drink. “Who’s Renly?”

“Renly Baratheon,” she explained, her eyes shining, “the handsome Renly I once had a crush on--” she lowered her eyes “--and maybe I still do.”

“You’ve never told me about him,” mumbled Jaime, feeling like a deflated balloon.

“Ah, she’s told me about him,” Sansa replied with a vigorous nod, her prior knowledge of this person making him feel left-out. She’d told Sansa, but never bothered to mention this Renly-whoever-he-is to him even once. “Brienne had a massive thing for him years back.”

“Why did he call you?” Jaime was itching to find out, hoping this was an odd one-time call and nothing more.

“He wants to meet me,” Brienne said, brimming with excitement, “he asked me if I’d like to go for a coffee with him sometime--”

“If he was just a crush, you barely even know him,” cried Jaime, his voice loud enough to distract the occupants of the adjacent table. “You haven't seen him for years.”

“I did--” she jumped to his defense, patches of pink colouring her cheeks “--observe him from a distance for years. So I kind-of know him.”

“And?” Jaime growled, waiting for her to go on.

“And,” she dragged the word, blushing deeper, “he said he’ll see me at Tyrion and Sansa’s engagement party.”

“That’s--” Jaime began hunting for the right way to react without hurting the wench, “--quite nice,” he said, sounding much happier than he actually felt from inside. “You never told me this Renly guy was invited,” he attacked Tyrion, glaring at him.

“Sansa’s dad is his brother Robert’s good friend,” his brother explained.

Brienne, apparently, had more updates for them. “He wanted to take me to the party--” she looked at Jaime “--but since you’ll be picking me up, I told him I’d see him there.” She smiled, excited at the prospect. 

“I’ll be glad to meet him,” Jaime said, wondering if his friend would succumb and start going out with this wonder-guy. “Excuse me for a minute.” He rushed to the men’s room, craving for a minute or two to himself.

His respite, however, was short-lived because close on his heels were Tyrion and Bronn who had promptly tailed him to the washroom.

“You okay, bro?” Tyrion asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Course I am,” shot Jaime, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You left mid-way, dude.” Bronn eyed him closely. “And you didn’t seem too happy with the recent developments.”

“I _am_ happy for her,” Jaime tried to convince them, “I was the one who suggested we date other people--”

Tyrion looked appalled. “You did--what?” 

“That’s the most logical thing to do, isn’t it?” Jaime defended his decision. “Find someone, marry, settle down--”

Bronn raised his brows doubtfully. “Even if that someone is Renly, the man of her dreams?”

“Why not?” said Jaime, shrugging casually. “If she’s happy, I’m happy for her. She’s my best friend, and I wish for nothing but the best for her.” He paused to breathe deeply and clear his head. “If what she wants is this Renly fucking Baratheon, I’m going to totally support her decision, and you guys ought to do the same.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets Renly.

Weekend arrived sooner than Jaime had expected, and with it dawned the fateful day of the engagement dinner. Much to his frustration, he discovered that he was far more jittery and apprehensive about dealing with the occasion than the soon-to-be-wed couple, spending most of the day aimlessly surfing the internet for useless stuff that would, on a normal day, have been of zero significance to him. When he wasn’t browsing irrelevant websites, he feverishly googled Renly Baratheon, repeatedly going over his business profile, his personal life, and various gossip columns that uncovered juicy stories about him, scanning every line, and at times, reading between the lines in the hope of finding something out of the ordinary about him.

 _One tiny loophole is all I need, a minor tear in his character,_ he resolved to himself, typing away furiously, _just one thread for me to hold on to. Something good enough to pull the wench away from that pretty boy._

“How do I look?” asked Tyrion, critically examining himself in the mirror.

Smiling, Jaime switched his attention from his laptop to his brother, his heart swelling with happiness for him. “As handsome as a groom ought to be,” he complimented Tyrion with all the warmth he felt for his sibling.

“And what the hell have you been up to all day?” Tyrion waddled to his side and bent down to see what he was doing. Struck with panic, Jaime tried to switch windows before his overly inquisitive brother could take note of his activities, but Tyrion was too quick for him. “You’re researching Renly!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Why?”

“Just-- general knowledge,” Jaime aimed to sound casual, but his brother only raised his brows in disbelief, too smart to be outwitted by his pathetic attempt at hiding his emotions.

“You’re jealous,” cried Tyrion, the triumphant smile he wore making Jaime squirm in discomfort, “you can’t stand the thought of Brienne dating someone else.”

“Stop misreading everything I say! I’m not jealous, nor do I want to sabotage her date,” Jaime was quick to deny the preposterous allegation. In his opinion, his brother’s reaction was merely an on-looker’s exaggeration of his intention, a misinterpretation of his good-will and concern for his friend. “I can’t hand Brienne over to any random guy--”

“Hand her over?” Tyrion repeated, his glee mounting with every word Jaime uttered. “She isn’t yours to hand over to whoever you wish--” his brother stopped smiling “--or is she?”

“You know I didn’t mean it in that sense,” Jaime said, embarrassed with the way his tongue slipped way too often these days. Using the wrong words at the wrong time was a problem he was born with, something he’d have to consciously correct. It seemed to be frequently getting him into trouble off late.

“What sense did you mean it in?” asked his brother, unwilling to cease his verbal onslaught.

“She’s my friend,” said Jaime, genuinely interested in her welfare, “and after what happened with Connington, I don’t want her to suffer a heartbreak again,” he fumed, reminded of the time she’d told him about Ronnet “Red” Connington who had broken up with her because she wasn’t good looking enough for him. The fact that he'd brought their relationship to an end by presenting her with a goodbye rose was far more difficult for him to stomach than the break-up itself. Since then Brienne had hated the flower, never even looking at it, let alone accepting one from a guy. 

_I wish this Renly approaches her with a rose,_ hoped the sinister side of his inner voice.

“No doubt, he’s handsome,” noted Tyrion after a quick glance at Renly’s profile, “and he seems to have a fine taste in clothes, wine and women,” he went on, browsing through a picture of Renly with a girl clinging to his arm - Margaery Tyrell, the caption said, daughter of top industrialist Mace Tyrell. “Renly used to go out with this Margaery,” he continued reading, “until they broke up a month ago.”

“It’s these handsome types that spell more trouble,” Jaime remarked, voicing the inexplicable fear inside him, re-reading the same article for the third time. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something seems to be off with this guy.”

“He’s well-educated, smart and belongs to one of the country’s top business families,” Tyrion listed the qualities one by one, “in short, he’s one of Westeros’ most eligible bachelors, and a perfect match for Brienne. What could possibly go wrong?”

“This article about him says he was to marry Margaery last month,” Jaime scrolled down to the bottom to read the whole page, “why, then, did they call it off?” 

“Disagreements,” Tyrion observed, perusing till the end, “those that, apparently, were non-negotiable.”

“Interesting,” Jaime commented, suspicion driving his imagination wild, his brain conjuring various ways in which this Renly could be the worst possible boyfriend for Brienne.

“I thought you were going to be supportive of whoever she chose,” Tyrion reminded him, “this Renly _fucking_ Baratheon included?”

“I am--” 

“Then stop poking too much into this,” his brother scolded him, “unless you’re interested in her, yourself.”

“I’m not,” Jaime made himself clear, “I’m just saying that a detailed background check needs to be undertaken before she takes things forward with him.” 

“All in good time, bro,” Tyrion tried to calm him down, “let her meet him first. If they decide to go out, you can see to the other things later.”

“That’s fair enough,” Jaime agreed, guilty that he’d overreacted, reading too much into a situation that may or may not present itself, “you’re right, it’s better to wait and watch before jumping into drastic actions,” he added, deciding to let the matter be for the time being.

“Unless,” Tyrion carefully began, “you want to do something about it in a different way,” he suggested, “you could take Renly’s place, you know. You’re no less than Renly, you already have the advantage of her friendship, and you’re clearly attracted to her.”

“I’m not attracted to her,” he yelled, louder than he’d intended, “And even if I was, I’m not what she wants,” he reminded his brother, taking care to keep his voice down this time.

“People don’t often realize what they _really_ want,” mused Tyrion, “until much later. One day you both will, too.”

A quick glance at his watch told him it was time to pick up Brienne. “I’ve got to leave,” he said, choosing to ignore his brother’s lecture, and off he went, his head brimming with possibilities of how the wench’s impending meeting with the pretty boy would turn out to be.

+++++

“How do I look?”

Brienne spun around, displaying the full glory of her dress - a low-neck midnight blue gown that went wonderfully with her creamy, flawless skin, doubling the beauty of her lovely eyes. His tongue seemed to have stuck to his mouth, and all Jaime could do was gape at her, speechless. While a million adjectives describing her took shape in his head, his hesitation to get them out overpowered his ability to express his thoughts. A few seconds of confused emotions later, he resigned to silently admiring her.

“Say something,” she insisted.

“It’s--” he stuttered, for the first time in two years at a complete loss for words around her, “it’s--” _stunning--you look stunning,_ he meant to say, but his nerves didn’t let him proceed, and he stood there ogling her like a hormonal teenager.

“--it’s hideous, I get it.” Her face fell when she took in his stunned expression, mistaking it for a negative reaction. “I know such clothes don’t suit me,” she said, glancing down at herself in disappointment, “but the occasion demanded it.” She nervously adjusted the sapphire pendant on her neck. 

“N--no,” he stammered again, stuck like a broken record, “you look fine,” he managed a balanced response at last, “blue is a good colour on you,” he gushed, pumping in all his sincerity in the compliment, “goes well with your eyes.”

She turned scarlet, and to his mounting confusion, Jaime found that he was beginning to enjoy watching her blush, particularly when he was the reason for getting her all flustered and bothered. “Stop kidding me,” she bashfully dismissed his praise.

“I’m not,” he said truthfully, hoping he could convince her that he’d stopped making fun of her appearance long back.

“Let’s go.” Picking up her purse from the nearby table, she headed for the door, but he stopped her, grabbing her arm.

“Hang on,” he said, straightening the sapphire on her neck to center it, “now we can leave,” he murmured, when satisfied with the outcome while trying hard not to make his admiration overly obvious and scare her away.

They left in his car, and Brienne sat quietly by his side when he drove, nervously checking her phone more often than she normally did, never once looking at him, but stealing multiple glances at the mirror to make sure her hair was in order and her dress was intact.

“Stop torturing yourself,” he told her when he couldn’t take it anymore, “you look absolutely stunning--”

“Oh, you’re just saying that to pacify me,” she pushed away his compliment again, “I’m seeing him after more than a decade, I don’t even know if he’d recognize me.”

 _Fuck him,_ thought Jaime, _he doesn’t even deserve half your attention._

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, swallowing his true feelings for Renly when he met her eyes in the mirror, “just sit back and relax until we get there.”

With that, Jaime decided not to aggravate her restlessness any further and chose to drive silently for the rest of the journey, often taking a break off the road to steal covert glances at her in the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of her astonishing eyes, because once they reached the venue, she’d end up spending the entire evening with Renly, leaving him with the rest of the group. Not that he found the company of the others unwelcome, but without Brienne, the group, somehow, felt incomplete. 

_I have to get used to it,_ he realized with a sigh, _to seeing lesser and lesser of her._

His mind not quite on the road, he drove on, pulling into the parking lot of the hotel when they’d finally made it to their destination.

“Brienne Tarth?” welcomed a voice the moment they stepped in. And there stood the over-hyped Renly Baratheon, before them in all his splendour, flashing Brienne a wide grin in an unmistakable bid to impress her.

 _He’s barely even seen her,_ Jaime seethed inside, _and he’s already making desperate attempts to get into her pants._

“Renly!” Brienne exclaimed, her voice uncharacteristically squeaky and breathless with nervousness and excitement.

“I’ll leave you both to talk,” Jaime conceded defeat, suddenly feeling like a third wheel, disappointed by her over-enthusiasm at the mere appearance of the guy.

“This is Jaime Lannister,” the wench introduced him before he could get away, “my best friend and go-to guy for everything.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Renly remarked as they shook hands, giving him a searching look, “Tywin Lannister’s son, isn’t it? The heir to the Lannister group of industries.”

“That’s right,” Jaime agreed, forcing a smile to acknowledge his inherited identity, hoping for the day to arrive when he’d be known as himself than his father’s son. “If you’ll excuse me,” he told Renly as politely as he could, the moment he spotted Bronn at a distance, “I need to catch up with my friends.”

“I’ll see you later, Jaime,” Brienne said, indicating her wish to be alone with this new guy who stole her attention. 

What irked Jaime the most was that the man barely had to put in any effort, he just had to show up, and there his wench was, going all heart-eyes over him. He made his way towards Bronn, grabbing a drink on his way from a waiter who was passing by.

“Your brother’s getting married, but you hardly seem happy,” Bronn correctly gauged his mood the moment he’d sat down, giving him one of his trademark dangerous looks.

“I am,” Jaime countered, downing the contents of his glass in one go, his eyes never leaving Brienne as he watched Renly talking to her with an artificial smile that constantly seemed to be pasted on his face.

“Then why the fuck are you tracking every move of hers?” his friend inquired, following his gaze.

“I’m not,” Jaime disagreed at once, “I’m just--” he paused to think of something negative to say of Brienne’s new boyfriend “--I’m just worried if he’ll treat her right.”

“She appears to be quite smitten with him,” Bronn noted, the obvious fact fueling his anger further, “and I see no reason to doubt the attraction on his side as well.”

“He’s flirting with her,” Jaime cried out, gripping his glass tightly when he caught sight of Renly playfully touching her arm.

“I suppose that’s what he’s meant to do,” replied Bronn, sounding amused, “if he's looking for something with her.” 

Jaime suppressed a groan. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Renly was a stud, while Brienne was more--nerdy, they weren’t supposed to get along like wax with fire. This meeting, he’d hoped, would be their first and their last, but the way the two laughed and joked with each other, oblivious to the rest of the world, he realized that he had been woefully wrong in his prediction of the evening.

_I’ve lost my friend to this pretty boy, and there’s nothing I can do about--_

“Hey guys!”

Tearing his gaze off the happy couple, he turned to see Sansa standing there with a pretty red-head. “Meet Jenna,” she introduced the woman by her side, “my cousin.”

“Jenna,” said Jaime, taking in the attractive woman as he shook her hand, “I’m Jaime Lannister, pleased to meet you.” 

  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Where the hell is Jaime?_

When Renly had excused himself to meet a few other acquaintances, Brienne scanned the hall for her best friend, hoping to speak to him in private. Her first date--if she could call it a date--was so far fantastic, and she had a lot to tell him about the new man in her life. They had decided to meet again, both of them equally enthusiastic about seeing each other again, eager to find out where this would lead. And she wanted Jaime’s opinion, she was curious to know what he thought about Renly.

Her eyes wandering wherever they could reach, she’d found her friend, alright, but the sight before her was far from pleasing, putting a dampener on her elation with the way the evening had progressed.

_Who the fuck is that? And why the hell is he flirting with her?_

Jaime was standing in a remote corner of the room, laughing and chatting with a woman she’d never seen before, a woman, she noted, much to her irritation, far prettier than most others in the crowd. Frowning, Brienne allowed herself a proper look at the stranger who was keeping Jaime company, and so engrossed she was, in studying what the pair was up to that she hadn’t noticed Sansa sneak up behind her.

“Wondering who she is?” her friend’s sudden intervention made her jump in surprise, and she nearly spilled her drink.

“Nope,” she denied immediately, “why would I?”

Sansa laughed. “You’re dying to know who she is and why is Jaime with her.”

Brienne took a sip, hoping Sansa would reveal the identity of the mystery woman without beating about the bush.

“She’s my cousin Jenna,” Sansa broke the suspense at last, “and she and Jaime seem to be getting along pretty well, I must say.”

“So you’re the one who introduced her to Jaime,” Brienne blurted, hoping, after she'd spoken, that she didn't sound accusatory.

“Yeah.” Sansa eyed the happy couple affectionately. “They’re both single, so I gathered, why not do them some good. They’re perfect for each other, aren’t they?”

“Umm-hmm,” said Brienne halfheartedly, hoping the woman would keep some distance instead of clinging to Jaime’s arm as if she were a useless part of him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sansa, peering at her closely. “You don’t seem too happy with the idea of Jaime dating someone else. I see nothing wrong with it, unless you have a specific problem with seeing him with another woman.”

“I’m happy for him,” Brienne hurriedly told her, gulping down her drink, “whatever he decides, I’m totally in support of it. Be it Jenna or anyone else, I completely approve of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had fun reading this chapter  
> PS : A heads up for those reading "A twist of fate" : The next chapter's coming up by weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy burns!

There was something about the blonde beauty, Jenna, and the way Jaime looked at her that drove Brienne to seek comfort in alcohol for the rest of the evening. First one, then another, followed by one more - on and on she went, gulping down drink after drink until she couldn’t keep count any more. Her mind felt fuzzy, yet she carried on, the capacity in her and her appetite for more, insatiable. Never one to get drunk beyond what she could manage, this was the first time she’d dared to venture into unexplored territory. She took a sip, her eyes fixed on the most good looking couple of the night. After that, in went another huge gulp, the sight of Jaime dancing with his new chick good enough a provocation to induce a sudden need for flooding her system with all the booze she could get hands on. Most of the couples had taken to the dance floor, and Renly was still missing, but instead of keeping an eye for him, she found herself staring at her best friend and his brand new girlfriend. 

Brienne kept herself occupied observing Jaime, or rather, glaring at him for reasons she couldn’t really understand. She had the pleasure of Renly’s company for the evening, the man of her dreams finally making the move of asking her out. And she’d accepted. What more could she wish for? Yet, her eyes strayed to Jaime and his hot dance partner. The way he slipped his arm around her, and the sickening sight of his fingers grabbing her slender waist made her grip her glass a tad too tightly. Irritation left her with a sour taste in the mouth when she noted the way he ogled her, his gaze full of longing as he undressed her with his eyes. The smile that was plastered on his face for the last half an hour - the most seductive and charming she’d ever seen so far, triggered a burning sensation in her chest.

_What the hell does he see in her?_

An honest appraisal of the woman before her answered her question.

 _Beautiful, blonde, smart,_ she mentally listed out the attributes in Jaime’s wish list, this girl perfectly fit the bill. She was everything he could ask for, an ideal match for him, his equal in looks, and from the way she was dressed, in social status as well. 

When he pulled Jenna closer, lost in her eyes, Brienne faced the other side, unable to spy on them anymore. _She’s a nice girl,_ she told herself, staring at the counter while emptying what was remaining in her glass, _she’s the one Jaime’s been looking for all these years, the woman he might eventually marry--_

“Wench!” 

She jumped, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest when she heard the voice, the unexpected tap on her shoulder leaving her mildly disoriented, but she focused her mind to stay calm. “It’s you,” she deliberately greeted him with a lukewarm response.

“Of course,” said Jaime with an odd look in his eyes, “who else in this world calls you _wench_?” he demanded, suspiciously looking around her, as though expecting to find someone else. 

“You’re right,” she scathingly attacked him for no fault of his, “no one else is rude enough to use that word.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” he inquired, searching her eyes. “You’ve never taken offense before--”

“I have,” she pounced on him again, her anger rising by the second. “Have you forgotten the first time you called me that?”

Jaime chuckled. “You were livid,” he recalled, “so angry that you’d have knocked me down, had logic not prevailed over you.”

Seeing his amusement, her face grew hot. “And you find that funny?”

“I used to.” He became serious when he noted her irritation. “Not anymore, I told you I’ve stopped mocking--”

“Sorry,” she quickly apologized, regretting her overreaction, “I snapped at you for no reason at all. I was--” she stopped, unsure of what exactly was the cause of her agitation.

“--missing Renly, obviously, I can see that,” he filled in the blanks, the frown returning to his face. “Where the hell is your new boyfriend? Has he abandoned you on your very first date?”

“There’s no need to be so critical about him,” she sounded off her frustration, “he’s just excused himself for a few minutes.”

“Just when it’s beginning to get exciting?” he asked, his eyes darting to the blissful couples grooving to the music. “Which guy does that to the woman he wants to go out with?”

“You seem to be better than Renly in that sense,” she bounced back with sarcasm that matched his, “you didn’t miss the first available chance to get your hands all over that--” she decided not to go on, deliberately avoiding her name.

“Jenna,” he supplied her with information she already had, “Sansa’s cousin.”

Brienne raised her brows, struggling hard not to be obviously curious. “Your type?”

“Maybe,” Jaime replied with a dreamy smile, “that’s for me to figure out when we meet again.”

“You’re seeing her again?” She had to make an effort to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“Yeah, I asked her out.”

“Renly asked me out as well,” she boasted, a tad too hastily.

“What good would he be on a date if he can’t keep you proper company for even a few hours?” he commented, his expression severe. "Where the fuck is he?"

“I told you--” Brienne was about to defend Renly again when she noticed that Jenna was nowhere to be seen. “And where’s your girlfriend, by the way? Ditched you?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jaime hotly denied, “not _yet_. And she had to leave early because of some prior commitments.”

“Do you like her?” she asked, swallowing her bitterness.

“I think so.” A contented smile lit up his face. “I hope so.”

A pang of guilt washed over her when she took in his radiant face. “I hope so too,” she told him, forcing the negativity out of her and ignoring the sudden weight on her chest, “if she makes you happy, I’m happy for you. But will she put up with your dry sense of humour?”

Jaime approached her, and she reflexively took a step backwards, only now realizing that the gap between them was less than a foot. He had encroached into her personal space, and she could smell his perfume and so much more. The irresistible scent of musk mixed with his sweat, along with the alcohol in his breath made her feel dizzy, adding to so many other sensations he evoked in her, and she tried her best not to be distracted by his muscular chest or by the sheer power of his presence around her. “You do,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “why won’t she?”

“Not everyone’s me.” It came out before she could hold her tongue.

“Right,” he nodded, “there’s no one like you.” His gaze was steady. “There’s only you, Brienne, and you’re precious.” He was painfully close to her, his warm breath setting fire to her face.

She wanted to break free of this disturbing effect he had on her, but the magnetic pull of his brilliant eyes kept her locked on to them, and she was left breathless, her throat dry. “Jaime--”

“Hey, Brienne!” 

Renly’s chirpy voice dragged her out of her trance, breaking the restraints Jaime’s powerful gaze had placed her under, and she stepped away, putting respectable distance between them.

“Umm…hey,” she mumbled, turning to Renly, while carefully avoiding Jaime.

“I thought you would’ve missed me,” Renly remarked with a playful smile, “little did I know that you’d find company to keep you suitably occupied.”

“I was just--having a little chat with Jaime,” she explained, unsure as to what exactly she was providing a justification for.

“I don’t need an excuse to speak to my friend,” Jaime indignantly shot back. “You’ve known her for a few hours, whereas I have known her for two years. I don’t need your consent to have a word with her.”

“There’s no need to be this aggressive, unless--” Renly looked at the two of them alternately as if trying to gauge the equation between then. 

“What?” Hands on his hips, Jaime was poised for an argument, his stance hostile.

“Nothing,” Renly thankfully let it go, “I’d like to dance with her now, if you’ll excuse us,” he politely let Jaime know that he wanted to be left alone with Brienne.

No one said anything after that, and Jaime gracefully moved away, leaving them be. Renly pulled her into the crowd and into his arms, swaying to the music as he led her in. She caved in to his charms, deciding to enjoy the rest of the evening. And why not? He was everything she could ask for in a boyfriend - fun to be with and warm. He’d done everything he could to make her smile, to make her evening a pleasant one. But none of this prevented her from sneaking a glance or two at Jaime, wondering what he was up to. What was running through his mind? Did he miss Jenna already? Was he planning to sleep with her on their first date? Would he eventually marry her if they clicked?

“You look lost,” Renly observed, “something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, her eyes sweeping the hall in search of Jaime who was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone after Jenna? Did he plan to take her to his place tonight? Her mind jumped to a variety of possible outcomes, ranging from one as innocent as the two of them simply sharing a conversation, to something as horribly raunchy as them making wildly passionate love on Jaime’s bed. To her dismay, her mind found the second possibility to be more convincing.

“You seem unwell,” Renly went on to misinterpret her discomfort, “do you want to leave?”

“Yes,” she decided at once, thinking that a good night’s sleep might iron things out in her mind.

“Come then, I’ll drop you home,” he offered, taking her arm.

“There will be no need for that,” announced a familiar voice from behind them, “she came here with me, and it’s me she’ll be going home with.”

They wheeled around at the interruption, the shock and displeasure at Jaime’s abrupt arrival blatantly evident on Renly’s face. “Fine,” he conceded without argument, and then turned his attention to Brienne, his expression returning to normal. “I’ll call you later,” he promised her with a smile.

While one part of her was keen to meet Renly again, the other half couldn’t help celebrating the fact that Jaime wasn’t sleeping with Jenna - at least not tonight. “Bye, Renly, I’ll be waiting for your call,” she told him with a warm smile.

After bidding Sansa and Tyrion goodbye, the two of them left, an uncomfortable silence hanging between them as Jaime led her to the exit. Neither of them looked at each other nor spoke a single word. Fortunately for Brienne, Jaime was the one to break the silence. “Bronn has borrowed my car,” he informed her when they left the elevator, “said he wanted to take some girl he met at the party some place.” When Brienne had nothing to say to that, he added, “I’ll call us a cab.”

“I’d prefer a walk,” she told him, wanting to get some fresh air to clear her head, the copious amounts of booze she had consumed contributing to her troubled state of mind. “My place is barely ten minutes from here.”

“A walk it is, then,” he concurred, and off they went, strolling into the night, the cool breeze and the calm of the dark, but for the occasional vehicle that zoomed past them having a soothing effect on her.

“You think he’ll make you happy?” Jaime popped the question out of the blue, taking her by surprise.

“I--” Brienne honestly had no answer to this, the bluntness of his tone shaking her more than the question itself. “I believe so,” she replied, wanting to be optimistic. “Renly’s a nice guy, he’s sweet, charming--”

Before she could finish, he bombarded her with the next question, his tone as brusque as before. “How long has he known you?”

“Well, he was in college with me--”

“--where all you did was stare at him from a distance,” he curtly pointed out. “He has only known you for a few hours. How can you decide that he’s the right guy for you?”

_Just as you decided Jenna’s the right woman for you within a few minutes of meeting her, never leaving her side for even a moment, sticking to her like a bloody leech!_

“A woman’s instinct,” she said defiantly, though her confidence wasn’t as firm as her words. “I can feel it.”

“Something’s not quite right about him,” Jaime went on in the same bitter vein, “he’s--”

“You don’t like him,” Brienne was quick to jump to Renly’s defense again, “that’s why you’ve been nitpicking, poking out the negatives in him.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds. When he spoke again, the severe look on his face was gone, and he toned down, “Sorry, I guess I’m just worried about you.” He stopped to look at her. “I don’t want what happened with Connington to repeat.”

“It won’t,” she said, touched by his concern. “And I’m sorry for being sour about Jenna earlier,” she apologized, “I’m sure she ticks all your boxes. She’ll make you a fantastic girlfriend.”

“So,” he drawled, his hands disappearing into his pockets as they continued on their way, “we’ve both found someone. To be honest, I never expected so much to happen this fast.”

 _Me too,_ she mentally agreed, alarmed at the pace at which things were moving.

“What if we had never run into these two, wench?”

“Then we’d have stumbled into someone else,” she replied with a shrug, “the universe is vast. There’s someone out there for each one of us.”

Jaime slowed down. “What if we never found someone?” he asked, fixing her with another of his penetrating stares. “No Renly, no Jenna, no--” he took a deep breath “--no one else. Then what?”

She was genuinely lost and clueless as to where this was leading to. “I don’t know.”

“We might probably have ended up with each other in that case.” A strange smile danced on his lips. “You and I, if we’re still single five years down the line--” he looked away into the darkness, leaving his sentence incomplete.

_That’s just drunken nonsense..._

She laughed. “That’s nothing but a hypothetical scenario. Such things happen only in movies.”

“True,” he nodded in agreement, “and here we are,” he abruptly changed the subject when they came to a halt at her building’s entrance.

Brienne wondered whether or not to invite him. “Are you coming upstairs?”

He hesitated for a second. “You’re more drunk than you can handle. I’d better see you safely in before I leave.”

“I can manage--”

“I’m coming,” he firmly told her as they stepped into the elevator, “unless you don’t want me to--”

“You’ll always be welcome at my place,” she hastily made her stand clear. The elevator pinged, indicating they were at their destination.

“Even after you start dating Renly?” he demanded, his tone even, as they walked down the hallway.

“Nothing’s going to change what’s between us,” she told him, unlocking her door, “not Renly and not Jenna too, I hope.” 

“Nope.”

“Jaime,” she tentatively approached what she’d wanted to ask him for the last few minutes, the alcohol in her veins giving her the courage to make an attempt to dispel her doubts. “If you and I--” she drew in a sharp breath, wanting to delve deeper into the imaginary picture he had presented “--if--if, in your imaginary situation, we had ended up together, what would you have done?”

“I’d have married you without wasting a minute,” he declared, looking deeply into her eyes.

Stupefied for a second, she immediately composed herself, remembering that this was merely hypothesis they were discussing. Jenna existed, and so did Renly, and that was the reality, not the yarn of fantasy Jaime had spun on their way home. She giggled, hoping to lighten the air between them. “I never knew you were such a romantic--”

“I am,” he hoarsely cut in, and the smile was off her lips, the space between them, loaded with tension again. “I’d even have taken a step further and carried you across the threshold if I ever happened to wed you.”

“What do you mean?” she croaked, her heart pounding. 

“It is my deepest desire to carry my bride to our marital bed,” he whispered.

“Impossible, I weigh about a ton,” she exaggerated, her face burning when she pictured him doing it, “you’d break your back if you tried any such stunt--”

The next second was a blur because she found herself swept off her feet and in his arms. “I’m strong enough,” he breathed into her face, kicking the door open and stepping into her apartment.

Trying to come to terms with what was happening, Brienne flung an arm around his neck, her other hand coming to a rest on his chest. She could feel his heart fluttering away crazily. “Jaime, what are you doing?”

“Proving to you that I’m strong enough,” he growled, the scent of him, so male and intoxicating, adding to her dizziness and distress, “so don’t you dare underestimate me, wench.” He carried her to the bed and set her down gently. He sat next to her, his arms still around her, and he didn’t budge an inch, nor did he make any attempt to look away from her.

“What would you have done next?” she breathlessly asked, before she could stop herself.

Jaime bent, his fingers sliding up her bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps all over. “I’d have kissed you,” he said, his voice cracking. Breathing heavily, he brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek.

 _Do it then,_ shouted the inebriated and messed-up part of her stupidly confused brain, _kiss me._

He didn’t, but he didn’t retreat either, his eyes threatening to melt her down with the fire in them. _He’s drunk, this is his alcohol acting, not him,_ she told herself, _and this is all nothing but a ridiculous figment of his imagination. None of this is real, it’s never going to happen. I’m not his type, he prefers pretty women. He wants Jenna and I have Renly--_

Her phone loudly rang, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Jaime immediately sprang out of the bed, equally unsettled by the sudden intervention. “Renly,” he noted, glancing down at the display, his expression instantly changing.

“Right,” she murmured, her hand shaking as she grabbed the phone.

“I should be going.” He made his way to the door. But before he left, he tossed her an odd look. “You should answer that, Brienne.”

With that, he was gone, leaving her alone with the screaming phone in her hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate at Tyrion and Sansa's wedding (well, almost...)

A little over a month had elapsed since that eventful night, but every second of it was still fresh in Jaime’s mind, the look that had passed between them when he’d swept Brienne off her feet, every little freckle on her face brightened up by the blush that had highlighted her features, the shine in her eyes when she’d learned of his intent, absurdly romantic and imaginary, though, it might have been. The change in her body language when he’d touched her had been far from subtle, and their entire exchange magically intimate, or at least, the signals his brain had sent out certainly seemed to indicate so.

Every single day after that, and every minute of his waking time, his mind had been brimming with what-if scenarios and their various possible outcomes, most of which ended with him pinning Brienne to the bed and fucking her senseless, something he’d almost ended up doing that night. 

_If only Renly hadn’t fucking interrupted us with his stupid phone call that night... If only he hadn’t ruined the wonderful moment..._

Had that evening ended on his terms, Brienne would probably have been holding his hand tonight instead of that pretty boy’s. _Who am I kidding,_ he had to suppress a smile, his imagination running riot, _forget holding hands, we’d never even have left that bedroom for days, living in Brienne’s bed forever, naked and wrapped around each other._

“You okay, Jaime?” Jenna’s soft concern reminded him where he was, his brother’s wedding. He was Tyrion’s best man, the heart and soul of the wedding, the groom’s brother, but here he was, sitting in a corner, stealing furtive glances at a woman who could never be his, whilst ignoring the woman he’d shared quite a number of dates with and made many promises to. 

“Yup,” he emphatically answered, hoping he sounded his usual self.

“You look troubled,” she went on, following his gaze. “She looks pretty tonight, blue suits her,” she remarked. When Jaime granted her the privilege of a few seconds of his attention, he found her eyeing Brienne with grim curiosity.

“Um--hmm,” he replied, his eyes traveling back to where they’d been, only to find Renly’s eyes still glued to Brienne’s cleavage.

 _Damn that dress,_ he cursed in his mind, balling his fist under the table, because, to be honest, Renly was not entirely to blame for ogling her hungrily. Anyone with eyes and a dick would have every reason to resort to whatever that man was up to. As Sansa’s maid of honour, she had chosen a stunning turquoise gown that clung to her like second skin, and she looked ravishing, sexier than she’d ever looked before. The dress was well tailored, having all the right cuts in the right places, flattering her shapely figure and showcasing her infinitely long legs. The wench was a personification of the right combination of sensuality and elegance tonight, and she appeared to have eyes only for Renly, who seemed to be nibbling away at her fingers, grinning like a cheshire cat. His smug expression, the way one would show off a prized possession angered Jaime more, and he clutched his glass, expecting the worst tonight, knowing full well that weddings were occasions when people usually got drunk, shedding their inhibitions and their clothes with far more ease than they would have on any normal day.

Upset again, in his current state of mind, he found himself incapable of holding on to a decent conversation with his girlfriend. While Jenna was his company for the night, by his side, holding his hand, it was Brienne who claimed his covert attention every time his girlfriend wasn’t looking. _What if,_ he dreaded, his nails painfully digging into his palms, _tonight’s the night Renly intends to take her to bed?_ From the way the wench giggled when he touched her, it was only a matter of hours before his fear could turn into reality.

“Let’s have the best man and the maid of honour on the floor,” he heard someone call out, the invitation breaking his mind from the shackles of his disturbing thoughts and wildly wandering imagination. Only after the announcement, did he notice that Tyrion and Sansa had already begun the revelry, followed by a few other couples.

While not exactly unhappy with Jenna’s company, he craved for a few exclusive minutes with his best friend, a privilege that had become a rarity these days after she’d started dating Renly. “Excuse me,” he told Jenna, and made his way to the table Brienne had occupied with her boyfriend, glad to be given an opportunity to wrench her out of his clutches for a while. Within no time, he was at her table, getting to her before Renly could whisk her away. “She’s mine tonight,” he hissed, unprovoked, directing all his pent-up rage at Renly, the words slipping past his lips before he could check himself. Only after he’d heard himself, did he realize how inappropriate he’d sounded.

Renly looked aghast, and for some sadistic reason, his discomfort and insecurity filled Jaime with an immense sense of satisfaction. “What do you mean, Lannister?”

“I mean, I’m going to dance with her,” Jaime explained, choosing his words carefully this time. Beyond this two-sentence exchange, he decided to ignore Renly’s existence, fully focusing his attention on Brienne. “Can I?” he asked, holding out his hand. “It’s tradition,” he went on, miffed when she turned to Renly, as if to seek his approval. “You don’t need his permission to dance with your friend,” he sourly commented.

Taking his hand, she rose, her face bearing the usual stubbornly determined expression. “I need neither his permission, nor yours, to dance with anyone.”

Convinced, and to a degree, oddly satisfied by her fitting response, he led her to where the crowd was thin, a pair or two around apart from the bridal couple. “Good to see you two together,” gushed Tyrion, when he and Sansa were in earshot, “and make the most of this chance, Jaime,” he added, so softly that none but Jaime could hear him.

“Have fun,” Brienne cheerfully called out when they drifted away, earning a warm smile from Sansa in return. “I’m so happy for you guys!” Once they had moved away, there was no one around them for a radius of at least a few feet, leaving Jaime relieved and at ease to talk to her.

“Sooo,” he drawled, as they moved to the music, and to his dismay, his usual flow of words had dried up, what to say next a point to ponder for him. 

“So?” she prompted, waiting for him to continue.

“We haven’t had much of a conversation since--” he was about to say _that night,_ the memories flooding him with unspeakable visions and emotions, but he didn’t bring himself to voice it, the recollection too awkward to be mentioned or discussed. Particularly when they had both decided that it was better to be done and over with whatever had happened and dismiss it as a drunken lapse. 

“Yes,” she agreed, thankfully sparing him the need to elaborate.

“You’re barely available for us,” he complained while he led her to a sparsely populated corner, out of earshot of the other dancers..

She coloured, which irked Jaime beyond measure, for he knew the reason behind her increased frequency of absences from group outings. “I’ve been out with Renly almost every weekend,” she predictably admitted, “I’ve had no time to--”

“You’ve forgotten us,” he blurted out, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone, “he’s been here for barely a couple of months, whereas we--”

“I don’t see anyone else whining about it,” she argued in the same irritated tone, “besides, what’s your problem? You’re with Jenna, anyway, you two stick to each other like a pair of--”

“Point taken,” he conceded, not having the heart to reduce their rare moment of togetherness to a petty fight.

Neither of them said anything after this, lost in the peppy number that played, dancing away and enjoying themselves until the music slowed down to a familiar romantic tune. “My favourite,” Jaime immediately perked up, “just the perfect song for us to share our first proper dance,” he said softly. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

Brienne smiled. “Renly and I had danced to this only last weekend--”

“You danced with Renly?” he yelped, a tad louder than he’d intended to.

“What’s so shocking about that?” she demanded, the air between them once again charged with electricity.

His brain suddenly inoperable, what he did next was thoughtless and impulsive, but consequences be damned. Uncaring about the people around him, he enclosed her in an intimate embrace, tightening his grip on her waist, her soft flesh extremely pliant under his touch. 

“Jaime, what are you doing?” She sounded breathless and giddy, but there was no sign of resistance or reluctance in her eyes.

“Did he hold you this close?” Jaime asked, jealousy blinding him at the thought of another man laying his filthy fingers on the woman he held. His voice had turned into a throaty rumble as he pictured what it would be like to rip the flimsy gown off and caress her bare skin.

“He--” she began, but her tongue seemed to be in a state of numbness, and all she did was stare at him helplessly, a few incoherent sounds escaping her throat every few seconds. He pulled her in even further, and she made a strange throaty noise, her reaction motivating him to cross all boundaries and breach the line of friendship between them. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his cock instantly rose in attention to this irresistible stimulus. “He--” she couldn’t go beyond that, her nipples hardening in arousal as he kept drawing closer, inch by inch, narrowing the gap between them.

“He--what?” Jaime demanded, wanting to know how and where exactly Renly had touched her, for the time being, disregarding the potential embarrassment that the slowly growing tent in his trousers could cause him. She gulped, and he could feel the heat radiating from her rapidly reddening face, the bulge between his legs bearing the brunt of every muscle she twitched or every inch of her face that reddened. He dropped his gaze to her full lips, and had they not been in a public place, he wouldn’t have trusted his will power enough to keep his hands off her.

“Did he do this to you?” he softly growled, brushing his mouth against her neck. “Tell me, Brienne--”

“He danced with me,” she whispered, her warm breath setting every pore of his skin on fire, while her hand slid up his chest, “he--”

“This is not dancing, Brienne,” he went on, his nails digging into her dress as he squeezed her waist, “this is something else, don’t you think?” A little more force, and he’d rip a hole in her delicate dress, but he didn’t care, the burning desire within him rendering him oblivious to everything but the woman in his arms, the friend who could never be more than that.

Her fist bunching the front of his shirt, she made no move to get away. “We just--”

A sharp tap on Jaime’s shoulders told him that they were not alone. Turning around irritably, he found Renly standing there, displeasure writ large on his face. “Time to leave my girlfriend alone, Lannister,” he said, his eyes shooting daggers at Jaime. 

Dignity lay in leaving her to her date and retreating, and that was what Jaime did, but not before taking a few deep breaths, musing about what this night could’ve been, had Renly not been an unwanted addition to the occasion.

+++++

Jaime lay in bed, his mind in a deep state of unrest as he was left obsessed and fuming that Brienne had not told him anything yet. How deep in their relationship were they? Had she slept with Renly? Was she planning to, tonight? Haggard after a hectic wedding schedule, he’d retired to his room, slumping on the bed after shucking his coat off, fatigue trying to lull him to sleep, but try as he might, his mind wasn’t at peace, and he had to resort to counting the seconds ticking on his watch, painfully loud in the deathly silence of the night, the only companion it had being the periodic hum of the AC.

Switching sides for the nth time, he turned to his right, hoping the change in position might offer him some respite and a means for at least a few hours of shut-eye.

_What if he’s in there with her right now?_

He sat bolt upright, the very high probability of this happening right now driving away his inclination to sleep. Without even bothering to grab his coat, he left in a hurry, picking up only his key-card, slamming the door behind him as he stepped out. 

_What if I’m too late? What if they--_

Refusing to let such unpleasant ideas eat him away, he dashed off in the direction of her room as fast as his legs could carry him. “Brienne,” he called out, pounding on the door like a madman, “it’s me. Open the door, it’s urgent, I need to--”

The door swung open and there stood the wench, still in her fancy gown. “Where’s he?” Jaime demanded, peering over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse if she hosted company.

“Who?” She looked both surprised and irritated.

“Don’t pretend,” he retorted, sauntering past her without an invitation. “I’ve been watching him all evening, and he’s been eying you like he wants to--” he faltered, taking note of the irate expression she wore.

Brienne watched him for a while, saying nothing, but waiting for him to calm down, and when he did, she decided to give him a piece of her mind. “Care to explain why you’ve barged into my room this late in the night?”

“I came to see if Renly is here,” he revealed, having no qualms at all about his intentions.

“Why?” she demanded, her eyes smouldering. “Not that it’s any of your business--”

“It is my business,” he roared, his pulse once again rising. “Any guy who comes within two feet of you automatically becomes my business.”

“Come out of this bloody misconception,” she shouted, her pitch uncharacteristically ultrasonic. “I have every right to sleep with any guy I want to and I don’t need your fucking permission for it.”

“Did you?” he came to the point that mattered, taking another step in her direction. “Did you sleep with Renly?” he made his question clear this time, leaving no room for ambiguity.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she replied, her stance adamant and defiant.

“Did you, Brienne?” he carried on, undeterred by her evasion tactics. 

“I owe you no explanations.” She spun around angrily, facing the wall with her back to him, an indication that she was done with the discussion.

But Jaime was far from done, determined not to walk out without an answer. “Tell me, wench,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “has Renly touched you?” His hands found their way to her shoulders, and she shuddered the second his skin came into contact with hers. “Like this?” he asked, allowing his fingers to wander about and play with her exposed skin.

He felt her stiffen at once, goosebumps erupting wherever his fingers traveled, but she made no attempt to slip away or ward him off. “Jaime, I don’t think--”

“Has he tried to seduce you, Brienne?” He paid no heed to her words, but only to the way her body responded to his touch, her deep breathing and her flushed skin encouraging him to go on. Emboldened, he yanked down one of her straps, ripping the thin fabric in his fit of aggression. “Like this?” he demanded, his lips now where the strap of the dress once was.

“Jaime--” she breathed, but he was in no mood to let her speak.

“How good are his seduction skills?” Jaime wanted to know, pushing the strap further down, until it had sunk to her elbow, making room for his mouth to show her how much she meant to him. “As good as this?” He kissed down her back, slowly and painfully, peeling away every bit of clothing that hindered his progress, in the process, divesting her of the other shoulder strap as well. 

Her dress now down to her waist, the upper half of her body was now completely exposed, his to touch, kiss and explore. Hornier than he’d ever been in his life, he dragged his hand down the front of her neck, caressing her along his way to her chest. “ _Oh, gods!_ ” she gasped, her voice unnaturally husky when he grabbed her breast and began massaging it. A moan slipped past her lips when he tugged at her nipple, her back arching into his chest, leaving her weak and unsteady. Crying out his name when he groped her again, she reached for the wall, desperate for support, sliding her palms down it while her knees buckled under the agony he was subjecting her to.

His tolerance threshold breached, he could take it no more. Without warning, he flipped her around and pushed her to the wall, pinning her to the hard surface with his body. “Did he kiss you, wench?” he growled, tilting his face close to hers as her taut nipples pressed hard against his chest. “Was he any good?”

“Jaime,” she whimpered, her hands attacking the buttons of his shirt. Two, three, at the most she was successful in gracefully doing away with, but after that she lost her patience, pulling his shirt open and ruining a button or two in her mad attempt to get him naked. “Kiss me and get this over with,” she rasped, combing her nails through the hair on his chest. 

He slammed his mouth on hers, days of bottled-up frustration coming to the foreground when he kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone before. She returned his passionate gesture with matched fervour, her fingers all over his ribs, teasing his chest hair, while her lips parted open, seeking his tongue. Everything else was reduced to a blur when he took to exploring her mouth, the flavour of mint and wine on her tongue leaving him far more inebriated than the strongest booze he’d ever indulged in. Her hand slid lower and lower, while her tongue continued its valiant battle against his for dominance. 

“Gods, wench, I’ve never wanted anyone this much.” Letting go of her lips, he began kissing down her neck.

“Nor have I,” she could barely manage a whisper, her thick lips and the smudged lipstick around them making her all the more kissable and enticing to him. He continued inflicting torture on her skin, every cry and every indecent sound that left her lips making him want to fuck her until her eyeballs popped out.

He would have gone on, done as his raging hormones commanded him to, only if she hadn’t frozen the moment her fingers brushed against his painfully swollen crotch. “Stop,” she cried out, agitated, pushing him away. “We can’t.”

Jaime stood where he was, aghast at the sudden turn of events. “What’s wrong?” Clueless as to what he’d done wrong, he waited for her to gather herself. 

“I think you ought to leave,” she mumbled, her eyes laden with shame as she pulled up what was left of her dress hastily to cover her chest.

“I thought you wanted this,” he said, hurt and embarrassed that he’d perhaps misread her signals. “I thought you--”

“I can’t, Jaime,” she raised her voice.

“Why?” He had to know, had a right to an explanation for this abrupt 180 degree flip in her stand.

“Because I’m engaged to Renly,” she shot back, stunning him into silence.

“What--” he stuttered, struggling to frame a logical sentence “--you never--”

“He asked me sometime back,” she admitted, her face shadowed by confusion and agony, “and I accepted.” Blushing furiously, she made another valiant attempt to cover herself.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” To Jaime, however, the alarming revelation that she was marrying someone else had not yet sunk in, and probably never would, and now he felt guilty, almost as if he’d forced himself on her against her wishes. “What about what just happened between us?”

Brienne lowered her gaze. “A drunken mistake,” she lamented, hiding her eyes, “something that could’ve become an unforgettable blunder had we carried on.”

 _A mistake,_ Jaime repeated in his mind, his heart sinking down to the pit of his stomach, _that’s what she’s put this down to._

“We’re good friends, Jaime,” she went on in the same low shameful tone, “and we can’t let an impulsive one-night stand ruin the beautiful relationship we’ve had for years.”

 _Friends. One-night stand._ His heart slipped another notch. _That’s all we’re destined to be._

“I’m with Renly and you have Jenna. We can’t cheat on those two for a few moments of what both of us might regret tomorrow,” she continued, blowing whatever hopes he had come with, to smithereens. 

A part of him still wanted to argue, make her see reason. “But Brienne--”

“Jaime, you’re drunk,” she kept harping on her point, “you’ll sing a different tune when you’re sober.” Inhaling deeply, she went on before he could interrupt her. “And so will I. People do get carried away at times, this being one such instance.”

 _Carried away?_ Jaime could only gape at her in shock.

“Let’s forget that this ever happened, Jaime.”

 _I wish it was that easy, wench._ Perhaps, he had misread her response, reading more into it when it was nothing but a drunken lapse, a surrender to misbehaving hormones. _If that’s all you want it to be, then so be it._

“I'm sorry,” he managed when he’d found his tongue and the sense to button up his shirt again. “Good night, Brienne.”

And when he made his way back to his room, his heart weighed at least a ton more than it usually did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More jealousy, and this time it's Renly and Jenna...

“Jaime, are you even listening to me?”

The calm and soft spoken person that she was, Jenna barely ever raised her voice, and it usually took a great deal of effort to break down her near-infinite patience. But Jaime appeared to have achieved the highly improbable, for his date appeared to be not only pissed off with his lack of attention, but also enraged with him.

“I’m sorry,” he made a pathetic attempt to cover up one of his numerous repeated bouts of lapse in concentration since they’d begun their dinner. A couple of days had gone by since Tyrion’s wedding, but he was still unable to get over the heartbreak he’d suffered that night, the disappointment and a resounding slap on the face that his destiny had decided to gift him with in the form of the wench’s rejection of him. “I’m just--” he searched his head for a suitable excuse “--tired,” he lied, blurting out the first thing that occurred to him. “The trip has been extremely taxing, and I’m just--”

Jenna raised a wary hand to stop him, leading Jaime to immediately cease belting out excuses, “You and I both know it isn’t that,” she said, sounding tired.

He decided to pretend to be innocent, because this wasn’t something he wanted to open up to her about. “I don’t understand--”

“Jaime,” she softly called out, reaching out for his hand from across the table, “do you think I can’t see it?”

“See what?” he asked, dreading the answer and the direction this conversation was meandering into.

“Stop acting like you don’t know,” she scolded him, “and stop running away from the truth.”

“I still fail to see what you mean,” he tried again, determined to avoid the painful subject, his heart knocked down by a fresh wave of agony as he remembered the regret in the wench’s eyes when he had unabashedly expressed his desire for her that night.

His girlfriend, however, refused to concede, and she appeared to have made up her mind to confront him today. “You fancy her, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question, but an assertion, and she looked at him squarely in the eye, a look so pointed that it aptly accompanied the bluntness of her question. 

Jaime was about to open his mouth, ready to spin off into an argument, but she continued, unwilling to entertain any contrary opinion to her observation. “I can see it in your eyes, Jaime.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair again. “Every time you look at her, every time she’s even in the same room as you, she’s the one you ache for. She’s the only woman you desire--” she shook her head, her eyes burning with hurt and exasperation. “All she has to do is step into your vicinity, and there you are - a lost puppy, a teenager smitten with the girl he refuses to accept is more than just his bloody friend.”

He blanched at the accuracy of her judgement. Every word she’d spoken was true, and he had been an idiot not to accept it earlier and come to terms with his feelings. When he had eventually reconciled to his attraction for Brienne, it had proven to be too late. Another man had staked his claim on her before him.

Jenna, however, continued to attack him mercilessly with her allegations. “Every time she’s around you, you’re blatantly vocal--” His eyes widening, he was about to object that he’d never once voiced his feelings, but she carried on, in no mood to spare him. “Not your voice, Jaime,” she clarified, “but your eyes. They shout out your feelings for her, loud and desperate.” She paused to catch her breath, crestfallen and her eyes full of disappointment. “Every. Single. Time,” she said again, emphasizing every word, her face downcast. “And you have no idea how green with envy I am, every time I catch you pining for her.”

All of a sudden, Jaime found it far easier to focus on his coffee cup instead of the brokenhearted woman before him. “It was never my intention to hurt you, Jenna,” he said apologetically, guilt filling every cell of his body. 

“I know,” she accepted his explanation, her lips curving in a sad smile. “The way you danced with her at Sansa’s wedding--” she had a dreamy look in her eyes “--it was as if you were the only two around. You didn’t care about who was around, did you? You barely even looked at me that night.”

“I am attracted to her,” he admitted, deciding it was time to tell her what had happened that night. After tonight, she might choose never to see him again, but he could never bear the weight on his heart if he didn’t tell her the truth, about how he’d completely overlooked her existence and succumbed to his desire to spend that night in the arms of the woman he’d been drawn to for ages. “There’s something I have to tell you,” he began with a heavy sigh, “I had been to Brienne’s room that night--”

And he went on, relating to her without mincing words, everything that had transpired between him and Brienne that night, and every word of their fateful conversation. He huffed a guilty sheepish laugh when he finished. “I made a fool of myself, trying to seduce her,” he recalled. “She’s so much in love with Renly that she turned me down,” he lamented, his voice breaking under the overload of emotions that he was buried under. “She couldn’t bear to cheat on him.”

For a while, Jenna said nothing, only fixing him with another of those piercing judgmental gazes she so liberally graced him with tonight.

“Say something,” he insisted, unable to bear her lack of reaction. “If you want to call it quits, I’ll respect your decision, but tell me so, and tell me now. Your silence is killing me.”

“It’s not my silence that’s killing you,” she said at last. “And calling it quits is not going to be my decision either. It’s yours--”

“But I never said I want to break up with you--”

“You love her,” Jenna pointed out, her expression stoic. “You can never be mine, Jaime, nor can you ever commit yourself to any other woman.”

“She doesn’t want me,” he helplessly admitted, only now, after she’d mentioned it, realizing the complete extent of his feelings for Brienne. “She’s marrying--”

“Talk to her,” Jenna urged, “tell her how you feel.”

“I’m not going to broach this subject with her again,” he firmly said, deciding he’d stay as far away from Brienne’s love life as possible. That she loved another and not him was a matter of significance to him, and he didn’t want to pressurize her or take advantage of their friendship. If she wanted them to remain friends, that’s what he’d be. Her best buddy, 4 a.m friend, the guy she could count on any time of the day or night.

“You say you’re her best friend,” said Jenna thoughtfully, “have you even spoken to her after your last conversation?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t you think you should?” she suggested. “Not to pursue her, but as a friend, maybe?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The same night, at Brienne’s residence…_

“Are you even listening to me, Brienne?”

Renly stopped playing with her hair, jerking his hand away as he straightened himself on the couch, the look he shot her, one of clear displeasure.

“I--” Brienne shook herself back to her senses. “Sorry, I dozed off,” she lied, unable to admit to him that her thoughts were as far away from him as could be.

“I was suggesting an October wedding,” he said irritably, taking his arm off her shoulders and shifting to one side.

“Yes--yes,” she absentmindedly agreed, “I’m fine with it. Whatever you say.”

_I thought you wanted this…_

Ever since that night had gone by, Jaime’s hurt-filled face and his words haunted her non-stop, and she was unable to get him off her head.

“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want this as much as I do?” Renly pointed out, miffed with her lack of inclination.

“It’s not that,” she quickly jumped into denial. “I just--” She pondered. What would she say? What explanation could she offer him? That she was unbearably and irrevocably attracted to her best friend? That she couldn’t stand the thought that he might, right now, be spending the better part of this night with his girlfriend? That, despite the fact that he'd been drawn to her, she had dismissed it as the aftermath of a drunken evening? That, she could never imagine he would, in his normal senses, be attracted to someone as plain and unattractive as her?

How could she admit to her fiance that she couldn’t get her best friend and his damned kiss out of her head? That she’d been aching deep down after she’d turned him away, wishing, for the first time in her life that night, that she’d never ever met Renly?

_What the hell should I tell him? That I’m unable to recover from my unrequited love for my best mate?_

“I’m waiting,” he cut into her thoughts, his tone laced with icy impatience.

“I’d like to go to bed early tonight,” she announced, seeing no better solution than to sleep it off, hoping the problem would go away when she woke up tomorrow morning.

A scowl nearly disfigured Renly’s handsome features. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he asked out of context, his tone bordering on accusatory. “Something’s changed between you and that Lannister friend of yours since Tyrion and Sansa’s wedding.”

Brienne had to make an effort to push aside memories of that night, some of which would, perhaps, would remain with her forever, to be cherished and treasured, for she could never end up with Jaime. “He’s my best friend--”

“--who just happened to casually stroll into your room in the middle of the night,” he barked, his eyes glowing with jealousy and fury. 

“He came to talk to me, and things got escalated a bit,” she tried to explain. “But nothing happened,” she hastily added when the frown on his face deepened, “and he left. I’ve told you many times there’s nothing between us, nothing that you need to worry about.”

“Prove it,” he softly challenged her, “promise me that you’ll never see Jaime again in your life or talk to him again.”

“I can’t do that!” she cried out, appalled by the cruelty of his expectation and his insecurity. “He’s my best friend, he--”

“Choose then,” Renly said with such stubbornness that she never knew was a part of his nature, “because it’s either him or me.”

“I can’t choose,” she was literally pleading with him now. “Please don’t make me do this. You’re both important to me.”

Renly rose to his full height. Arms crossed against his chest, he glared at her for a few seconds. “You’re in love with him,” he bitterly concluded, putting an end to the excruciating silence, “that’s why you’re unable to get over him.”

Brienne got to her feet, towering over him. “Yes I am,” she shouted, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, “but that’s not why I'm refusing to do as you say. Jaime’s been my friend for long before I met you. He’s been there for me far longer that you have. He’s been with me through thick and thin, holding my hand through career disasters and other heartbreaks, a shoulder to cry on, someone to rely on.” She sighed heavily, controlling the emotions imploding within her. “Yes, I love him, but I don’t expect him to give up on his girlfriend for my sake. I value his friendship too much to let him go for your or anyone else' sake.” Having firmly made up her mind on her stand, she decided to make it clear to him. “I’m not someone who breaks old ties to forge new ones.”

Renly went pale upon hearing her response, the impact of her refusal, apparently, too much for him to digest. “Is this goodbye, Brienne?”

She smiled sadly. “Only if you want it to be,” she told him, tossing the ball in his court despite knowing full well what his answer would be.

A short nod was the only response she earned, and then he walked away without a word. Out of her door, and out of her life, and with him were shattered her rosy visions of settling in life with the man of her dreams.

 _The man of my dreams,_ she thought wryly. _Is he, though?_

The answer was something her heart had given her long back, so when she shut the door behind him, she wasn't surprised that it was not the break up with Renly that had hurt her tonight as much as the hard reality that she could never end up with the man of her dreams, that he now belonged to a woman who suited him much better than an ugly wench like her. She sank into the couch, feeling lonelier than she ever had, her heart loaded with emptiness, the feeling that she’d have to deal with seeing Jaime every single day with another, more beautiful woman, pinching her more than she’d ever thought it would.

The doorbell rang, the suddenness of it and the fact that she wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight making her almost fall off her perch in shock. Before she could compose herself and get up to open the door, it went on ringing several more times.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered angrily, cursing the person who’d so rudely disturbed whatever little peace and tranquility she was trying to hold on to, to help her out of her troubled state of mind.

“Wench,” Jaime gasped, panting heavily at her doorstep as if he’d run a few miles. The moment she opened the door to a more than a crack, he pushed past her without waiting for her to invite him indoors. “Where the fuck is your phone?” he demanded, his forehead creased in a concerned frown as he kicked the door shut.

Only then did it occur to her that her cellphone had been long dead, and she’d forgotten to plug it in. “It’s out of charge,” she said, looking around to search for it. “What brings you here?” she asked, clueless about his unannounced arrival.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he told her, clutching his chest to catch his breath, “and when I couldn’t get through, I was worried that you might be--” he stopped, taking a long pause to observe her closely. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer to allow himself a proper look at her.

“Nothing,” she immediately put him off, not desiring to burden him with details of her anguish and her botched evening. “I’m just tired,” she tried the same standard excuse.

But Jaime refused to be taken for a ride by her lame attempt to keep him at bay. “You’re not,” he said brusquely, stepping into her personal space.

Her pulse immediately quickening, she hoped her desperate feelings for him weren’t blatantly bare for him to see. “I am--”

“Is it Renly?” he went on, the creases on his forehead deepening. “Has he hurt you?” When she hid her gaze from him, staring at the floor as she fought hard to contain her tears in her eyes, he touched her arm gently. “Tell me, wench,” he continued to insist, his tone so tender that she was worried she might burst into tears any minute. “Won’t you confide in me?” he asked again.

“I broke up with Renly,” she confessed at last, her voice shaky and unsteady, the flurry of emotions within her threatening to make their way out through her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he softly told her, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. “I--”

Brienne could take it no more, and before he could say another word, she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed her heart out on his chest. The dam now broken, the flow was free and uninterrupted, the abrupt arrival of her best friend and the man she loved, shattering the gradually crumbling wall of restraint she had so valiantly tried to hold on to all this while.

Jaime said nothing to comfort her, for words weren’t required anymore, not between them. He merely held her close to him, softly running his fingers through her hair as he allowed her to vent out her feelings in his arms. With every passing second of comfortable silence, her heartbreak ebbed away bit by bit, only to be replaced by other heady sensations, those that the scent of his skin and the intoxicating effect of his aftershave seemed to heighten. Swept away momentarily by memories of that night, she pulled back, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to break down,” she mumbled, ashamed to have lost control of her emotions so easily.

“It’s just me, Brienne,” he reassured her, his eyes shining, piercing hers in an attempt to read her mind once more, “and I’m not going to be judgemental, no matter what you say or do.”

“I know,” she said, her voice yet to return to normal, the obstruction in her throat continuing to make her sound as if she’d been hit by a nasty bout of cold. “Everything happened so fast, I was just--” she combed her fingers through her hair, avoiding his eyes again “--just overwhelmed, and then you turned up, and I just couldn’t contain myself.”

He led her inside. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Confused with the tangled range of feelings flooding her, she shook her head, blinking back her tears with great difficulty.

“Do you want me to leave?” he tentatively asked. “Whatever you want, wench, If you want to--”

“No,” she cried out, craving his company more than anything else, “stay, please.”

“Brienne, look at me.” He tilted her face towards his, his gaze meeting hers again, and when she saw the gentle concern in his eyes, she sank into his arms again, letting herself get lost in the comfort his mere presence offered her. “Shh,” he consoled her again, pressing close to her while his arms went around her back. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just happened to figure out that he isn’t my type after all,” she said dryly, determined to put Renly behind her as she held on to her friend.

“Strange,” said Jaime, his sexy voice shooting out a bolt of electricity that struck her right between her legs, tightening her abdominal muscles, “I happened to figure out tonight that Jenna isn’t my type either.”

The news strangely relaxing, she shut her eyes, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You broke up with her?”

“Hmm,” he said, the deep rumble of his voice making her wish she could stay like this in his arms forever.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed into his neck, his rough stubble pricking her pleasurably as she nuzzled him, the gloom within her rapidly vanishing.

“Don’t be,” he breathed, tightening his hold on her, “I’m sure it’s for the good. But I’m sorry about Renly though, you were so happy with him--” 

“He wanted me to relinquish our friendship,” she confessed, “he was unnecessarily jealous of what we share.”

“And you decided to say goodbye to him rather than putting an end to our friendship?” he asked, the tremor in his voice distinctly obvious.

“Hmm.” She snuggled closer, his facial hair burning her soft skin, driving her crazy. “I couldn’t just let go of you, could I?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he whispered.

They stood like that, wrapped around each other for a while, neither of them willing to let go, the slow rhythmic movement of his fingers along her body now giving rise to a different type of turmoil within her. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me to,” he promised, rubbing her back, his gesture dangerously wavering between soothing and seductive, the friction his hands were causing sending a rush of heat through her.

Emboldened, she mustered the courage to express her wish. “Don’t leave me alone tonight, Jaime,” she pleaded. When his heavy breathing was all she could feel in response, his chest heaving against hers, she drew away, just enough to look him in the eye. “Stay with me,” she implored.

He didn’t speak, but she could sense his mind racing like hell as he seemed to contemplate her request. At last, he touched her cheek, his fingers kissing her face, the impassioned look in his eyes scorching her. “Anything for you, wench,” he complied, his tone strange and his voice unusually hoarse.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, or shall we say, the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating to E for well... stuff. Stuff that I absolutely don't regret writing ;)

“Thank you, Jaime,” Brienne murmured, her liquid eyes reaching out to his.

“For what?” he asked, melting under her soulful gaze as he ran a finger along her cheek, tucking away a wisp of sandy hair that crossed his path.

“For being there.” She exhaled deeply, her warm breath stirring something in the depths of his heart. “Every time I need you.”

 _Kiss her, you fool,_ instinct told him, and so did every part of him that yearned for her, but he held himself on a tight leash, unwilling to repeat the mistakes he’d made the other night.

But fate, and particularly Brienne, had decided to make things difficult for him. Before he could comprehend what was happening, she wound up in his arms again, and, as usual, unable to restrain himself, he held her to his chest, pacifying her and providing the much needed comfort only a best friend could, despite the questions that clogged his brain, doubts and uncertainties only too eager to keep them company. She was upset at having broken up with Renly, that was obvious, but was she still in love with him? Even if she was, would she manage to get over him, or would she keep pining for him?

_Am I ever going to get past the thin line that separates friendship and more? Will tonight be an opportunity for me to prove that I’m more than a shoulder to cry on? To tell her that I’m head over heels in love with her? To show her that she’s the one?_

_But most of all, will she ever reciprocate my feelings?_

Confusion plagued him, as did the inability to decide what to do next, so he did the only best thing the situation demanded of him - prove to her that he would always be there for her.

_Always._

In an attempt to prevent his rapidly weakening mind to get carried away by the scent of her freshly shampooed hair, he decided to focus on the purpose of his visit, reminding himself that he was here in the capacity of a friend, and not the jerk who wasted no time in making a move on her the second she’d split up with her fiance. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put off the effect she had on him. He wanted to desperately ignore the soft mound of her breasts pressed up against his chest, painfully obvious and enticing. Overlooking the fact that her palm had crept up his chest, the touch beginning to short-circuit his brain, he hoped he could survive the night, to keep her company and make sure she slept in peace. She wriggled and squirmed, adjusting herself in his arms, and he twitched in turn, her innocent moves bearing a direct impact on his hormones, sending all the blood in his veins rushing to his groin.

Fortunately, before things could get any more uncomfortable, she drew away, her face flushed from crying. “Umm,” she awkwardly began, “why don’t you come in?”

“Sure.” He followed her to the couch in the living room and uncomfortably perched on it, the apartment he’d been to numerous times in the past, now having an uncomfortably alien feel to it.

“Drink? Beer or--”

“Just water,” he was prompt to decline her offer, determined to steer clear of alcohol tonight, a means to preserve his sanity, “or some orange juice, if you have any.”

The wench nodded. “Orange juice it is.” While she headed off to the kitchen to fetch him his juice, Jaime sprang to his feet and began pacing the room, anxiety taking over every cell of his body. Once or twice he paused, taking deep breaths, compelling his nerves to settle down and leave him at peace, but to no avail, because his restlessness ultimately prevailed. He eventually took to distracting himself by concentrating on the sound of glasses clinking in the kitchen. 

“Can you give me a hand in here?” Brienne called out, and he jumped at the suggestion, relieved to have found something to do to push aside his wavering thoughts. 

His brain still fuzzy, he stormed into the kitchen, only to collide headlong into her, only to be hit by a fountain of orange liquid that not only uncomfortably dripped down his shirt, but also found its way into his nose and mouth. Cursing himself for his carelessness, he glanced down to inspect the mess his shirt had become, and Brienne’s exasperated yelp that followed was no surprise. “What the hell!” she cursed, spluttering and clearing her throat.

“Sorry, my mistake,” he apologized, coughing the juice out of his windpipe. Only after his bout had settled did he spare her a look, and what he saw left him open-mouthed and sweating like a horny teenager. Their little accident had taken a much higher toll on her, drenching her white tee completely, orange stains slowly spreading all over it as the garment now stuck to her skin.

“That was all the juice I had,” she grumbled, setting the now three-fourths empty glasses on the counter before looking down to examine the damage to her clothes. “I have to quickly change--”

But Jaime could barely pay attention to her words anymore. Eyes glued to her shirt, his mind went into raptures of imagination and fantasies that had never struck him before. The soaked woman before him was, by far, the sexiest sight he'd ever come upon. Her top clung to her like a second skin, the distinct swell of her breasts screaming out to him that she wore no bra. The thin fabric did nothing to conceal what it was meant to, and he could clearly make out her nipples, hard and round, achingly calling out to him, inviting his fingers and tongue to launch an assault on them. His throat suddenly went dry, the thirst he felt invoking in him an unbearable need to suck the juice off her. Hunger and desire surged through him, tempting him to press his mouth into her delicious skin, to torture her until she cried out his name in delight--

“ _Jaime!_ ” 

She did cry out his name, not out of lust, but in irritation, overcome by the urgency to get out of the room and into dry clothes.

“Y--yes?” he mumbled, lifting his head to meet her eyes, ashamed that he’d been indecently staring. But all that caught his attention, were a few rogue droplets of juice clinging to her face. One, he counted, stuck to her chin, while a whole lot of others covered her lips, compelling him to get rid of them.

“I said gimme a minute,” she irritably repeated, “I need to go wash and change.” She made to leave, but he blocked her way, encroaching into her personal space, instead of getting away from her.

“Jaime--” This time it was a helpless whimper, a feeble attempt to escape from him, but whatever she was about to tell him next lost its way to her lips the instant she took note of the blazing heat in his eyes. “Let me go,” she implored, but he took another step in her direction, and she was forced to retreat, the counter behind her, however, obstructing her freedom on the other side as well.

“I have to get out of my soiled clothes,” she unnecessarily reiterated her intent.

“I can help you with that,” he blurted out without thinking.

Her brows shot up, a sign of shock, surprise and disbelief that this was actually happening. Taking advantage of her confusion, he touched her face, his thumb teasing the scar on her upper lip. “What are you doing?” Her voice came out husky, unlike the honeyed-sweetness it usually dripped of.

“Making another pathetic attempt to seduce you,” Jaime admitted unabashedly. “I want you, wench,” he heard himself say as he squeezed in close to her, the dampness of her shirt driving his dick into a state of frenzy, “ _desperately._ ”

Her lips separated when his thumb continued to linger, and she gazed at him with eyes drunk with passion echoing his. “Jaime--”

 _It’s now or never,_ he figured out, deciding to go for it, to take his chance. “You’re still standing here,” he noted, pushing her to the counter with his body, his hopes soaring as tense seconds ticked by, “which means you aren’t averse to the idea.”

“What idea?” she asked, taking another step behind her, and in the attempt, tripping on a washcloth that lay on the floor. She stumbled, but in a flash, his arms went around her. 

“Go on, wench,” he breathed, ignoring her show of ignorance, his lips so tantalizingly close to the droplets of juice, that he desperately wanted to lick her clean of them, “tell me that you don’t want me,” he challenged her, hoping she wouldn’t turn him down like the last time, “and I swear, henceforth, I’ll stay at least a foot away from you.”

“What makes you think I’m going to say something like that?” she squeaked, the blush blossoming in her cheeks motivation enough for him to cross his limits. 

“You did it last time,” he complained. His hand moving of its own accord, he squeezed her breast over the shirt, and she yelped in delight when he tugged at her wet nipple. 

“It won't happen tonight,” she reassured him, throwing her arms around him, her fingers stroking the nape of his neck, her firm answer to all the doubts and questions that had been tormenting him since he’d arrived. “Go on,” she invited, grinding her hips against his hardness, “finish what you started that night.” 

Hoisting her off the ground, he seated her on the counter, determined to do _exactly_ what she wanted. Her face now at a slightly lower level than his, he bent to lick away the offending drop of juice off her chin, his mouth hovering over her orange flavoured skin even after he was done. “I need a bath first,” she insisted, but his lips took charge of hers, taking care of the rest of the juice. 

“You taste just fine,” he convinced her, sucking the droplets off her, one by one, tormenting her lips with one agonizing kiss after another. She glanced at him with half-lidded eyes, and he began kissing down her neck, enjoying the newly acquired knowledge that orange juice could be this intoxicating. “We can both have a nice bath when we’re done,” he suggested, his heart thumping wildly as he looked forward to the prospect, “ _together._ ”

“Just--” she grunted, biting her lip violently when his mouth enclosed her nipple, teasing and licking it over the soaked shirt “--kiss me, Jaime. Rid me of this--”

Keen to comply, he didn’t let her finish, crushing her lips with his, while his hands slid under her shirt, groping every bit of damp sticky skin he could reach. She smelled and tasted of oranges and mint, deliciously sexy, waiting to be devoured, and she felt exactly what a woman should feel like, soft and curvy in all the right places. His fingers eased their way around her bare torso, pinching and kneading and caressing every part of her, while his tongue snaked its way into her mouth, competing with hers for space and dominance. Their kiss went on, a dance, a duel, a contest for conquest, and so did his onslaught on her body, the heat within him scorching him so much, that he wanted to strip her bare and make love to her right there. 

Wasting no more time, he pulled down her pants and slipped a hand into her panties, going straight for her moist folds. In went one finger, and she squealed, his mouth absorbing the sounds she made as he smothered her with another kiss, and when he inserted another finger, she shuddered in his arms, her nails digging hard into his back. She was hot and wet and aroused, ready to take him, ready to rock his whole fucking world.

“Fuck,” she swore, biting his lip hard when his fingers sank into the burning depths of her core, but he kept going, his free hand sliding under her shirt and settling on her breast for want of something constructive to do. She shook violently when he played with her nipples in turns, and growled like a wild lioness when he fingered her clit, her arousal seductively shameless. He was merciless, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, whilst his fingers tore her apart, her orgasm, when it hit her, so fucking explosive, that the very sight of her coming to pieces because of him left him unbearably hard and unable to overlook the bulge in his pants anymore.

“Oh.My.God,” she panted, slumping into his arms when he withdrew his hand, her panties in a sorry state thanks to his relentless assault on her. Shaking and quivering, she felt like jelly in his arms. “That was--”

“--good?” he inquired hopefully.

“Mind blowing,” she admitted, a satisfied look taking over her flushed sweaty face. Cupping his face, she pulled him in for another kiss. “Make love to me,” she half-begged and half-ordered him, “ _properly._ ” She raised her arms, a hint to him to take her shirt off, and he obliged, the stained, wet garment dropping to the floor with a satisfying sound. Next to go were her panties, soaked with her climax, smelling of the very essence of her and arousing the hell out of him. 

In a bid to get him naked as soon as she could, she clumsily ripped apart the buttons of his shirt, and yanked it off him, and then she went for his jeans, licking her lips in anticipation when she spotted his erection. “Wait,” he stopped her, his hand disappearing into one of his back pockets when he remembered something. “Here it is,” he said, pulling out what he was searching for, relieved when he’d found it.

Brienne fixed him with a frown when she saw the pack he held. “You carry condoms in your pockets?”

He shrugged. “You never know when a guy might get lucky.”

Her eyes flashed fire, the lust in them taking a backseat for a moment. “Were you hoping you’d get lucky with Jenna?” she asked, glowering. “Weren’t you on a date tonight with her? What would have happened if you’d still been with her? Would you--”

“You sound quite jealous,” he teased, before she could finish her barrage of complaints.

“Of course, I am,” she replied indignantly, “I--”

Jaime silenced her with his lips, and she seemed to buy his explanation, melting into him yet again, her soft sighs painfully reminding him that his jeans were still on. He continued to plunder her mouth with kiss after kiss, showing her that _she_ was the one. Not Jenna. Not anyone else. Only her.

“I haven’t slept with Jenna,” he cleared her misunderstanding the second he let go of her, and she smiled, her hand now on his waist, pulling down the zipper. “Even if I’d been with her a million nights, I wouldn’t have touched her,” he admitted, stepping out of his jeans.

“I haven’t slept with Renly either,” she shyly confessed, peeling the underwear off him and doing him the favour of releasing his cock. 

“That makes us even.” Before she could react, he lifted her off the counter. 

“Careful,” she warned, “I’m not so light that you can--”

“I’m strong enough,” he bragged. “I told you I’d carry you to _our_ bed,” he went on, reminding her of the conversation they’d had weeks ago, “and that’s what I’m going to do.” Carrying her to the bedroom, he shoved her on the bed and got in after her. She lay there, watching with impatience when he ripped open the condom pack, her eyes growing wider by the second, an appreciative glint appearing in them when she took in every inch of his length. The moment he finished, she grabbed him, pulling him on top of her before going on to lock lips with him again.

“Fuck,” she swore when his cock teased her entrance, and what came next was a a long string of expletives, some of which, he wasn’t even aware existed in her vocabulary. She squeezed his ass, a sure sign for him to get on with it and waste no more time, an indication that she was no longer able to stand the slow agony he was subjecting her to.

Their long wait, at last, coming to an end, Jaime decided to go all the way. At his first thrust, she gasped into his mouth, going limp in his arms for a while. He withdrew, only to go in again, and this time, she wrapped her legs around his hips, crushing him as her walls tightened around him, the sensation so heady that it threatened to knock the living daylights out of him. He began rocking his hips in a steady motion, and she whimpered helplessly, pinching his back, her heels kicking helplessly into his calves. “Say my name,” he roared, digging deep into her as he upped the tempo, and she let out a hoarse feral cry, “not Renly, not Connington. Just me.” Passion blinding him, he was now a man possessed, going harder into her, his pace furiously feverish, his thighs slapping against hers while his mouth settled at her throat.

“Jaime!” He could feel her voice more than he could hear it when he sucked at her throat, and she jerked under him, her fingers running up his shoulders and into his hair. He nibbled her neck, and left little bites on her chest, his teeth prodding her nipple, his fingers kneading and massaging her breasts. He kept slamming into her, hard and rough, just the way he’d always imagined sex with her to be, and she played along, her gasps and growls getting louder and more desperate by the second. “Faster,” she grunted, shifting her hips to allow him more leverage. He did as she demanded, going on at a maddeningly violent pace, and she kept up, matching his moves, slowly, but surely, becoming an indispensable part of him. Claiming her mouth again, he kissed her, whispering her name, taking her to the edges of her tolerance. "Fuck, Jaime," she cried when he mercilessly pushed into her, bringing about, this time, an end that reduced her to a limp sweaty dead-weight under him.

“Oh, Brienne,” he shouted when he neared his climax, his final thrust taking him to places he’d never been to before. Spent, he buried his face between her breasts, placing a tender kiss on her chest. He'd had fantastic orgasms before, but never once had he seen stars. Not until now. Not until he was with Brienne.

What ensued was a spell of comfortable silence and they held each other, their shaking hot bodies gradually returning to a state of normalcy. “I never imagined we’d end up like this,” she said, smiling into his lips when he raised his head to kiss her again.

“Nor did I,” he agreed, “but I’m glad we did.” 

Her face lit up with a playful smile and she gently ruffled his hair.

“What?”

“You sounded quite jealous too,” she pointed out, grinning, “earlier, when you--”

Another kiss, and she was rendered speechless. “I did, didn’t I?” he concurred, letting go of her. “I couldn’t stand the thought of Renly touching you,” he accepted his possessiveness. _This is it,_ he decided, _it’s time to tell her that I love her._ No sooner did he think of breaking into a long speech professing his love for her, than the doorbell chimed, taking him by surprise and irritation at having been interrupted. “Are you expecting anyone, wench?”

Brienne shook her head, equally clueless about the identity of their mysterious visitor. “I’ll see who it is,” she said, imploring him to get off her.

Jaime, however, didn’t bother to budge. “Must you really?” he grumbled, in no mood to let her anywhere out of this bed or his arms. “Can’t we just pretend you aren’t here? They’ll go away in a while. Besides, I have to tell you something important--”

Giggling, she pushed him away and slid off the bed. “Much as I’d like to be here with you, it’s wiser to check who it is,” she said, pulling on a bathrobe. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” And then she disappeared into the living room.

Minutes passed, but she wasn’t back, and he could now hear voices, one of them male and familiar. Curious, and mildly apprehensive, he threw a bed sheet over his waist and made his way outside.

Never had he been so displeased as he was now, because there before his eyes, was Renly fucking Baratheon, deeply engrossed in a heated argument with Brienne. 

“Ah,” said their visitor, when his attention was diverted by Jaime’s arrival and his disheveled, half-naked appearance, “here he is.” Shooting Jaime a dirty look, he turned to Brienne again. “You were just waiting to break up with me, weren’t you? You’ve always wanted to fuck him behind my back--”

“You don’t _fuck_ the woman you love, you make love to her,” Jaime intervened, unable to stand it any longer. “Don’t you know that Renly?” Pouring in all the sarcasm he could manage, he went on in the same bitter vein. “Or do you? How would you?" he spat. "You were never in love with her.”

Renly’s eyes bore a stone-cold look. “What about you, Lannister?” he demanded. “Why don’t you admit that you took advantage of a weak moment? Under the pretext of offering comfort, you slept with her to satisfy your own lust. Such friends with benefits you are--”

“I love her,” Jaime roared, his pulse rising, “I have, for months, for much longer than she’s known you--”

“Then why the hell didn’t you say anything?” asked Renly, his voice dripping with suspicion. “You could’ve easily told her when she started dating me, but you didn’t.” 

“I hate to admit it, but I agree with you on that,” said Jaime, regretting that he’d wasted so much time deliberating. “I never thought myself worthy of her--”

“To hell with you and your bloody preconceived notions, Jaime Lannister!” It was Brienne who spoke this time, her eyes shining when she turned to him. “You’re such an idiot!”

“I am,” he readily agreed, approaching her as he spoke.

“You love me?” she asked, as if unwilling to believe him.

“Why else do you think I’d take you to bed?” he asked, offended that she found it so far-fetched.

She pressed her lips together. “I guessed you might harbour such feelings for me, particularly after what just happened between us, but I wasn't sure--” she hesitated, “I never thought you’d be attracted to someone like me.”

He took her face in his hands, running his thumb over her lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met, Brienne” he complimented her from the bottom of her heart. “Your eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and--”

“Liar,” Renly loudly countered, reminding him of his presence, “I’ve seen the way he stares at pretty chicks like Jenna.”

“Jenna was an unfortunate escape route,” Jaime accepted his mistake, making a mental note to apologize to the woman whose heart he’d broken “a detour, that I thought, would distract me from Brienne.” He shook his head, taking her hand. “But I was so wrong, it only brought me closer to her.”

“Since it’s crystal clear that I’ve always been the third wheel, I’d better leave,” Renly grunted. Without waiting for either of them to respond, nor bothering to say goodbye, he took off, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Why did he come back?”

“He’d left a file behind when he was here,” Brienne informed him, “came back to pick it up.” She jerked her hand away, confusion casting a shadow on her lovely eyes. “Forget about Renly, why didn’t you--”

“--tell you all this earlier? I didn’t know how you’d react,” he told her honestly. “I wasn’t sure of your feelings since you had, so clearly, written off guys like me when you described your dream-man. I’m not your type, far from it actually--”

“I’m not your type either,” she reminded him, draping her arms around his neck. “You wanted someone pretty and dainty. Jenna was perfect for you.”

“She probably was, but for one problem.” When Brienne threw him a quizzical look, he went on to explain, “She wasn’t you,” he said fondly, “and it has always been you, wench, no one else.”

She broke into the loveliest smile he’d ever seen. “Likewise,” she replied, her radiant face telling him everything he’d ever wanted to hear.

“I’m assuming that means--”

“I love you,” she confessed before he could finish, putting to rest all his insecurities, elevating him to a position of happiness so high in the clouds that he was afraid he might fall off. “It was always you, Jaime, not Ronnet, and not Renly either.”

“This is the end of our friendship, I presume,” declared Jaime as he pinned her to the door, overjoyed with the way the night was turning out. 

“No,” Brienne disagreed with a smile, “it’s the beginning of something else, something beautiful, something yet to be explored. The journey of a lifetime,” she concluded, pulling him into a hug.

“A new beginning then,” he echoed happily, sliding the robe off her shoulders, “and a memorable night to come for you,” he mischievously added. “I’m going to make sure you don’t sleep tonight.” Leaning into her, he began nuzzling her neck.

She held a restraining hand to his chest. “I need a bath before that,” she said, looking down at herself in disgust. “I smell icky, I feel sticky--”

Jaime buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “You smell just fine, absolutely divine--”

Not one to fall for the bait, Brienne wriggled free of his grasp. “A bath first,” she firmly insisted.

“I can join you, wench,” he suggested hopefully, “if you’ll have me...”

+++++

_One year later…_

“To the new Mrs. Lannister,” Sansa announced, smiling at Brienne as she raised her glass.

“To the new Mrs. Lannister,” chorused everyone else, joining in the revelry.

“Welcome to the family, Brienne,” Sansa gushed, and then turned to Jaime to add, “You’re a lucky man.”

“I know,” Jaime happily agreed, taking his wife’s hand.

“When did you decide you’re each other’s types?” inquired Bronn, throwing them both sly looks. “Was it before you fucked or after--”

“Shut up, Bronn,” Brienne silenced him, blushing a lovely shade of pink.

“After, it was, then,” Bronn concluded, smirking, and her blush deepened. “You’re a lucky guy, Lannister, lucky enough to get your dream girl and a dream job.”

“He gave up his father’s empire for my sake,” Brienne affectionately pointed out. “He decided to stay back at King’s Landing only for me, because I’m working here, and that wasn’t an easy choice to make.”

“That was the only choice to make,” Jaime said, meaning every word of it. “By the way,” he went on, remembering something, “Renly was in the news today.”

Tyrion clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t tell me you’re still stalking him?”

Brienne put down her glass, her full attention on her brother-in-law. “Stalking him?”

“He did,” Tyrion revealed, “every single day when you were dating him, hoping he could find some flaw in him.”

“The guy never loved you, Brienne,” said Jaime defensively, “look at this.” He showed her the news article on his phone which had a picture of Renly with a handsome guy. “Loras Tyrell,” she read the caption, “isn’t this--”

“Margaery’s brother, your ex’s new boyfriend.”

Brienne looked stunned for a second. “Then why did he ask me to marry him?”

“Some stupid clause in his father’s will,” Tyrion informed the group. “That he was entitled to his share in the Baratheon empire only if he married a suitable woman. Well, I’m glad he’s finally been able to accept his heart’s calling and find happiness with the one he really loves.”

“Just like us,” said Jaime, squeezing his wife’s hand, wishing for nothing more than to spend every minute of his life with Brienne, and when his time came, to die in the arms of the woman he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the end of another journey, and this time, like every other time, has been absolutely fantastic. Thanks to everyone who's been through this with me, and a special shout out to those who've taken the time and the initiative to provide your wonderful comments!  
> P.S : I'll be back with the next chapter of "A Twist of fate" soon :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and do let me know if you liked it!


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